Dean Winchester, Skin Walker
by LeeMarieJack
Summary: Dean has possibly the worst night of his life. All he wanted to do was go out to a bar, have a few drinks and maybe find himself a little female companionship. He ends up dragging himself back at dawn, dirty , bedraggled and beaten; transformed into an entirely new kind of monster. John is definitely not going to like this.
1. Chapter 1 - A New Life

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 1**

 **A New Life**

"A damn, dark hole, I fell into a damn dark hole in the ground. I'm a drunken idiot." Dean fumed and tried to move around on the cold, wet, muck under his ass. The water was soaking into his jeans and freezing his skin. His fingers clenched into the debris. Something wiggled against his palm. He squeezed and it didn't move again.

His squirming came to an abrupt stop as a fiery bolt of pain shot up his left leg when he tried to straighten it. " Shit, that hurt." He gritted his teeth and tried again. No hope. His right foot slid over the greasy mud and he landed back on his ass after only gaining a minimum of lift. Slamming back down did the damaged leg no good at all.

The pain was like a living thing; a fast and nasty viper that shot from his knee up his spine and made his teeth ache. He looked up and could see the night sky sprinkled with the cheerful little twinkling stars grinning down at him.

"Freaking assholes." He snorted at himself. Here he was drunk and broken, trapped at the bottom of a slime filled hole, swearing at the stars, the useless fuckers. He tried again to get up but the sides of the hole were just as slippery as the floor. All that he accomplished was getting more mud smeared all over him and another ungraceful decent back on his ass. His left knee flared like it was on fire.

Now he was reduced to yelling. It was the only choice left. He remembered he had been following that girl. She had flirted with him in the bar and crooked her finger as she left, inviting him to follow. Of course he'd gone after her. At the moment she was everything he had ever wanted. He was drunk enough for the alcohol to have shut down a lot of his brain cells. Maybe she'd hear him and get him some help.

Like a bucket of cold water the realization flooded him that perhaps she had lead him here; lead him to this tiger trap. Maybe she hadn't been hungry for sex. Maybe she was only hungry. If he had two good legs he would kick himself. He was a Hunter. He needed to be smarter than a tomcat chasing a female in heat.

He shut up and tried to think through the fog in his head. This was not good. If Dad came looking for him and found him in this pit he'd never hear the last of it.

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Earlier that same night Dean had stood at the smeared motel window, watching for the lights of the Impala. It was cold, windy and wet outdoors and he was bored. He'd been waiting here in a skanky ass motel on the out skirts of Chamberlain, South Dakota, near the banks of the Missouri, for three long days.

Dad had dropped him off with a casual I gotta look into something and that had been it. Each previous evening Dad had called and simply said I'll be there tomorrow, son. Just wait for me. Dean had just about lost it by the second day and had considered then going out to a bar for a little friendly companionship and maybe to get enough money to rent a car and get the hell away. Dad had been treating him like a kid for months now. He was twenty three, not twelve and John Winchester was on the verge of losing his second son in the same year.

Dean, however, had always been the good little solder; obeying orders, keeping his mouth shut and his opinions to himself. Only lately had he allowed himself to start thinking that maybe baby brother had been right. Dad didn't treat him like a son or even like an actual person. He was a tool, a useful tool that John dropped when he didn't need it.

He was a hell of a nice tool, Dean had thought to himself. This tool kept itself sharp and was always ready to go. The only way the tool could get any better was to stop having needs like the occasion sound of another voice or food. Dean smiled grimly to himself and continued to fantasize. It would be just fantastic if he could stop thinking and wanting. John Winchester would be pleased if his son could just be thrown in the trunk with the other weapons and only taken out when needed.

Dean had laughed out loud. He was acting like a spoiled teenager. He was a grown man. If he couldn't take care of himself for three days, what kind of a fool was he? He pulled on his jacket and decided to head out, find a nice warm bar and a little companionship. Sure, it was lonely right now but he'd find a new friend pretty quick. He didn't need to spend another night alone.

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Look where that plan had gotten him. It was late, really late. The bar had closed after one and now it was definitely two or later. It was cold as hell and the drizzle was turning to light sleet. Down in the damp hole Dean was cold, miserable and wet. He clutched his jacket tighter around him, stuffing his freezing hands in the pockets. He wished he had more hands so that he could put the extras over his ears.

A shadow passed between him and the bitter stars. "Hey, anybody up there?" he shouted. "Need some help down here." Peering up he became convinced that whatever was up there was staring back down at him. He thought he could see glowing eyes. Not good, not good at all.

That was all he needed; some night prowling predator out looking for an easy meal. He doubted that any animal would be stupid enough to throw itself into the pit, not matter how tasty he smelled.

"Oh, shit." Evidently that was exactly what the animal was going to do. There was a scraping noise and clumps of wet mud fell down followed by a very large hairy body. The wolf like creature managed to make a direct hit on Dean's damaged leg and Dean shouted out involuntarily with the pain. He tried to kick out with his good leg but couldn't get any leverage with his bad leg on the slick muddy surface. All he did was hand his good leg over to be weakly buried in the animal's fur.

There was a flash of white fangs and teeth were buried in Dean's boot. Glowing yellow eyes narrowed and the creature growled. Dean figured he was well and truly fucked. All that was going to be left for John Winchester to find would be a couple of scraps of plaid flannel.

Then it got really weird. The wolf spit out Dean's leg like it tasted bad then sat down on its rump and stared at the Hunter. The hole was big for a hole but not big enough to comfortably accommodate a full grown man and a very large wolf. The man and the animal were just about nose to nose. The wolf stretched out its snout and very deliberately bit into Dean's shoulder just above the shoulder joint.

Dean was ready to simply pass out from the pain of the wolf landing on his leg and now the pain of a deep and deliberate bite added weight to the scales, tipping Dean further toward saying screw it and passing out. He felt the bite but he also felt a burning sensation like something extra was being poured into the wound. Something was moving through his body, traveling the paths laid out by his circulatory system. Dean was dying. He was dying in an already prepared grave with a wolf as his only pall bearer. The lights went out and his consciousness skittered away.

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There were prickly little points dancing on his eye lids. He was cold and wet and, as memory rushed back, incredibly surprised to still be alive. Slowly he peeled a single eye open and he was still in the dark. The little prickles were half frozen rain drops assaulting his face. He watched as his breath condensed into a misty white cloud and floated away.

Something moved and he tried to pull himself up, bracing himself for the onslaught of pain. He remembered his damn trick knee and the torture it could inflict on him. It didn't happen. He opened both eyes. The wolf was gone and the woman he had followed out of the bar was sitting in the wolf's place.

She didn't move so for first few moments of consciousness Dean simply checked out his condition. He was still wet and cold but the pain was gone. He carefully straightened his left leg and thought he could feel his knee cap slide back into position. He brushed his hand inside his jacket to his shoulder. The bite was there. His shirt had neatly placed holes where the wolf's fangs had penetrated but his skin seemed to have healed over. The puncture wounds weren't seeping and touching the line of holes didn't hurt.

"What are you?" he barked at her. "What did you do to me?"

The dark haired woman blinked her eyes slowly, shaking off the drizzle gathered on her long lashes. "You survived," she said in a surprised voice. "That's good. I need you alive." She looked up at the top of the hole. "We have to get out of this pit before he finds us."

"Whoa, lady" Dean replied. "You tell me what's going on here. I'm not going anywhere with you unless you start talking. What are you? A werewolf?"

She laughed, exposing bright white, even teeth. She flipped her wet hair back off her face and leaned forward, digging a hand into his upper thigh. Her breath was warm on his face. "I'm much more than that, pretty boy."

Her face started to change and Dean watched as his own face appeared, looking weird under her long dark hair.

"A shapeshifter," Dean pushed back into the wall and struck her hand off his leg.

"Not just that either." She muttered and looked up at the sky again. "Stupid werewolf didn't realize until after he bit me that he had taken on more than he could chew. I've got his pelt in my cabin. I've got the taste of his blood on my tongue."

"What do you want with me, then?" Dean scrabbled behind his back. Now that he wasn't distracted by over whelming pain his had control of his frozen hands back. He could feel that his gun was still safely tucked in his waistband and he thanked the God he stopped believing in a long time ago for that small mercy. A little more information and this bitch was going down.

"I want your face." She answered. "More than that, I want you to wear mine. Something is after me; something strong and fierce. I'm going to feed you to it."

She grabbed his chin and pulled his face forward. "Can't you feel it? Can't you tell what's running through your veins? Feels like fire, doesn't it? It felt like fire to me. It's a gift from the werewolf. Heals your wounds, gives you strength and makes you a cousin of mine."

The longer her hand was on his face the more he did feel it. The bones were moving in his body; the skin on his face was crawling. He glanced down at his hands which were suddenly painful and he watched them transform into a woman's hands with long graceful fingers and smooth, soft skin.

"No," he gasped. "Stop this."

She smiled a wild eager grin. "It's never happened before. We are brand new things under the sky. Shapeshifters are born, not made: or at least not made until now. I bit you with the werewolf's teeth and the shapeshifter cells poured through your body. It's all that I can understand and I don't care if I'm right or wrong. I only know that it works and now I am you and you are the prey that I'll feed to the thing following me."

Dean got his hand around the gun at his back. He whipped it out and pointed it at her face. "Fuck you."

Her eyes grew large and round. She threw her hands out trying to grasp the barrel and push it away. She was almost completely transformed into Dean Winchester and he was almost her but with strength born of desperation he pulled the trigger and pumped two silver bullets into her head.

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He pushed the shapeshifter's body to the side of the hole and carefully stood up. The monster was half way to Dean but death had stopped the transformation mid-way. It had his face, almost perfectly formed. Her hair had started to fall out and be replaced by dirty blond spikes. He didn't want to investigate any further. Whatever was under that dress he didn't want to know.

He flexed his legs. She had been right about that, he felt no pain. That knee cap had been a problem for years. The first time he dislocated it by falling down a staircase while chasing a poltergeist in Minnesota. He'd asked Sammy to pop it back in but the big girl insisted on taking him to the hospital. Dean smiled. He could hear Sammy's teenage voice resonating in his head. "Dean, your leg is bending the wrong way. I'm not touching it."

They had ended up in the emergency room that time. The doctors said not to do it again; the knee would always be weak. Be careful; all the usual doctor BS. Well, evidently that was one problem solved. Dean was laughing at himself again. Here he was, standing in a mud packed hole in the ground, a body at his feet, in the darkest part of the night in a sleeting rain storm and he was looking for a freaking silver lining.

Now that he could get to his feet the top of the hole didn't look as far away. He rammed his fingers into the muddy wall in front of him far enough to get some purchase. He stepped on the shapeshifter's body for the extra couple of inches he could get and rammed the other hand in further up. Huh, he was stronger. He was drilling his own hand holds into the side of the hole. As he rose higher he started kicking, jamming the toe of his boot into the wall too. It only took a couple of minutes for him to pull himself all the way up. He threw himself over the lip of the hole and landed on his back in the duff of this miniature pine forest she had decoyed him into.

After catching his breath he rolled over and looked back down into the hole. He could just see her body down there, curled up like she was sleeping. He kicked at the edge hoping that maybe the hole would collapse in on itself. A couple of large clumps went flying but nothing important. Just as he was checking again some one hit him the back of the head, hard. Lights out again.

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This time when he came to he was propped up against a tree and his hands were tied securely behind his back and around the trunk. He shook his head. This was turning into the worst night of his life and he was beginning to worry about the repeated blows to his head. His vision was wobbly and he felt like he wanted to throw up. Those were bad signs. He knew a concussion when he felt one. He kind of hoped it was a concussion. That would explain what he was looking at. It appeared to be some kind of man sized bird with a long, sharp beak and feathers bobbing up out of the top of its head.

"What the hell are you?" he croaked. His voice sounded strange. The giant bird hopped closer and now another weird creature was staring into his eyes. He just remembered that he might be looking a little strange himself. He couldn't really tell but he just might be part girl. He closed his eyes to stop the world spinning round and in hope that when he opened them again this freaky ass bird would be gone. He concentrated on Dean Winchester; on how he looked, on his body, on his face. The rain was still coming down but it was better under this tree. Not a place where he'd like to go camping but it was better than a dank, muddy hole in the ground. It was cold and he'd long ago give up hope that his ass would ever dry out but he managed to put all those things out of his mind and concentrate on becoming Dean Winchester.

He felt the bones in his body moving again, rearranging themselves, reattaching and going back to where they belonged. His skin crawled back home and settled in. When he felt things stabilize he opened his eyes. The bird had turned into a man with a feathered cape who was squatting on his heels in front of Dean. The bird's head was lying on the ground next to the guy. Dean was very relieved to realize it was a mask.

"What are you?" the man asked in a deep voice.

"Back at you buddy." Dean replied and pulled on his restraints. "Did you tie me to this tree? What's the idea?"

"Quiet, thing that walks in the dark." The man shuffled forward and reached for Dean's head. "I saw you. I saw you change." He pulled Dean's head back and once again tonight someone was trying to pull Dean's soul out through his eyes. "Skin Walker?"

Dean jerked his head out of the man's hands. "Christ, no. Let me go."

The man, who Dean suspected to be Native American, laughed. "Did you kill her? Did you kill that woman thing down in the hole?"

"That was no woman and I think you know that she wasn't." Dean was getting more than a little fed up with everyone piling the bullshit higher and deeper all night. He was tired, he was wet and filthy. He just wanted to go back to the motel and get this shitty night over with.

"I think you are." The man pulled a rolled up piece of hide out from under his cape of feathers. "I wanted her. She needed to die. She was not made of man; she was made of night and evil winds. I think you might be the same."

The man threw the skin over Dean's head. When it unrolled it appeared to be in the shape of a dog or a wolf, or something canine; maybe a coyote. Whatever. It landed on Dean and covered his head. Dean breathed in and smelled the night and tall prairie grass and the dry wind off the mountains. The more he breathed the deeper into his lungs the wild smell penetrated. There went his bones again, moving around and sorting themselves into yet another position.

He heard the man chanting but the sound came from far away. He felt the ropes drop off his legs. Wait, that wasn't right. The ropes were on his arms, not his legs. The only thing was he really couldn't find his arms anymore. There were more legs than he needed or wanted however. He suddenly was very aware of the sounds in the night and the smells in the air. He could smell the man; sour sweat, old food, questionable hygiene and all. Dean opened his eyes and the world seemed strange. His boots appeared to be empty and lay in the dirt in front of him, falling to the side like nothing was holding them up. He shook and pieces of clothing either dropped or flew through the air. The man in front of him scuttled back out of range.

"I knew you were not just some wandering white man." The man cried. "You are like her. I knew about her but you were hidden. She's dead and now you should be too."

Dean looked down at his body. It was covered in fur. His clothes were gone. He appeared to be either very big dog or a great grey wolf.

The man in front of him fell on his hands in the dirt then looked up. "Skin Walker" his voice shook. "You are a witch, a Skin Walker. It should not be. I don't want you here. I am this valley's Skin Walker. There is no need for another; not her and not you either."

The man sprang to his feet and charged forward with a heavy serrated knife in his hand. Dean waited until the very last moment then shifted to the side. The man had lunged forward with the knife held flat. His momentum carried him forward in a slow fall. As he passed Dean extended his jaws and ripped the man's throat out.

Blood spurted like a fountain from the severed artery. The man rolled over on his back, his hands clutching uselessly at his throat. Dean as a wolf sauntered over and looked down on the dying face. With a convulsive movement the man reached out and grabbed the wolf's head. Drawing Dean's head down he fixed his dying look on the involuntary Shape Shifter.

Whatever words the man was muttering Dean had no idea. They certainly were not English. For the second time that night a force pulsed through Dean's body. Another unwanted gift was made; another curse was laid upon him. _"Yee_ _naaldlooshii"_ the man managed to mutter then gasping and choking he died.

Dean stood still in his wolf body, feet immersed in a welter of blood. He breathed deeply and licked the dead man's blood off his fangs. He backed up slowly. The smell of the body was almost overwhelming. He had to get away from all that blood. It wasn't safe.

He went back to the tree where his clothing laid scattered and, ignoring the smell of the kill and the other night smells carried on the wind he stood still and imagined Dean Winchester again. He thought of his man face, his body, the size of his hands, and the shape of his mouth. The world stood still and his body reassembled for the second time that night. With practice he thought he could get a lot faster. He was vulnerable at times like this. Some Hunter could slash his throat in the blink of an eye. It occurred to him that his own father would try.

As soon as Dean was human again he threw his clothes on and surveyed the blood splattered scene. There was one body down in the hole. There was another body in the field. It looked like a psychopath's holiday with the blood splattered all over the ground and even painting some of the tree trunks.

The man's body would only show evidence of an animal attack. The woman's body however had two silver bullets in the head. With a deep sigh Dean decided to not even try. Let the locals try to figure this one out. The woman's body with a man's face and an extremely strange head of hair would keep the local coroner in beer for at least a week. Dean was tired, hung over and just wanted to go back to the motel and lay down. He prayed that John Winchester hadn't come back and that he would have time to clean up and calm down.

Dean trudged off in the light of a false dawn. It had been a hell of a night. It was still raining and the icy cold slush was trickling under the collar of his shirt. He felt tired but strong, a strange combination. He was changed. As the Shapeshifter had said he was something new under the sun. He just needed to lay low, make no sudden moves and get used to being a completely unique kind of monster.


	2. Chapter 2 - Welcome to the Wild Side

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Welcome to the Wild Side**

 **From Chapter 1**

 _The man's body would only show evidence of an animal attack. The woman's body however had two silver bullets in the head. With a deep sigh Dean decided to not even try. Let the locals try to figure this one out. The woman's body with a man's face and an extremely strange head of hair would keep the local coroner in beer for at least a week. Dean was tired, hung over and just wanted to go back to the motel and lay down. He prayed that John Winchester hadn't come back and that he would have time to clean up and calm down._

 _Dean trudged off in the light of a false dawn. It had been a hell of a night. It was still raining and the icy cold slush was trickling under the collar of his shirt. He felt tired but strong, a strange combination. He was changed. As the Shapeshifter had said he was something new under the sun. He just needed to lay low, make no sudden moves and get used to being a completely unique kind of monster._

 **Chapter 2**

Sunrise was breaking in the East, throwing his shadow before him, stretching out long and thin, grasping at the possibility of harbor. The motel finally appeared out of the early morning fog and his shadow was determined to get there first. Wet, damp and miserable as he was that crappy motel looked like Nirvana. Best of all, there was no Impala in sight. Hopefully John would stay gone. The last thing Dean needed right now was his father sniffing around like an old hound dog, catching scent of the Supernatural wafting off his son.

Dean wanted a shower, food and a bed. Food was questionable but Dean knew the other two lay behind that faded door. Finally he arrived. He stood under the overhang and fished inside his jacket; semi-numb fingers tugging at the inside zippered pocket that hopefully had kept the key safe through this long annoying night.

Once inside he leaned against the door and simply breathed. It was a crappy motel room; sour, stale and smelling vaguely of mold but it was dry. He had become so used to the sleet pounding on his head that it was almost like something was missing. He focused on the bathroom door and trudged across the room, shedding clothing as he went. Only the leather jacket gained the safety of the bed. Everything else hit the floor.

As he crossed the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror. There was mud in his hair and streaks of mud on his face that had only been partially erased by the rain. He looked like a stray dog. For just a moment he paused and leaned on the sink to get closer to the mirror. He looked like himself. He couldn't see any signs of strange until he tried casually to see what he could do. When his face started to freaking flow he backed off.

"No," he whispered. "None of that." He held the image of his face centered in his mind. Nothing strange, no flowing skin, just Dean; pure solid Dean that was all he wanted to see.

It was getting easier, he realized. He would have to watch it. If it was getting that easy he could possibly see himself reflecting every face he passed, a hundred faces in an afternoon if he were to walk the streets of a major city.

Once in the shower he luxuriated in the feeling of warm water on his skin. The water fell on the top of his head, so much better than the sleet then filled his ears and flowed over his back. He leaned forward and held on to the soap tray while the water massaged the back of his neck. His feet began to warm up bathed in the water running down his legs onto the tile. Water streamed from his hair, from the point of his elbows, from the end of his dick, and then splashed on to the floor. He could stand here forever just letting the water have its way with him.

Finally the water began to cool. He lathered up quickly, killing all the muddy marks on his body and got out of the shower just ahead of the burst of rapidly cooling water. The room was full of steam. He wiped the mirror and toweled his hair dry while staring at his face, his real face. There had been a moment in the shower when he had started to fantasize about fins and flippers and living under the water. He took it to mean he was finally ready to go to sleep. Day dreaming in the shower about living in the ocean could end up with a shark in his bed. He had to take hold of these fantasies. They could get him killed.

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"Dean, wake up, boy," something wacked him hard on his foot. His eyes flew open, his hands slid under the pillow going for his gun. When he whirled off his belly into a sitting position his gun was firmly clasped with two hands and pointed directly at John Winchester's face.

"Chirst, Dad" he exclaimed. "You should know better than that. I could have blown your damned head off."

"Well, you didn't." the older hunter shorted. "I can duck faster than that and I wanted you out of that bed like ten minutes ago. Get up. We got a job to do." John turned away and headed for his duffle. The bag was thrown on Dean's little table.

"You know," his father continued. "I'm surprised I got as close to you as I did." John was checking the load in his hand gun and pawing through his bag for a clip, Dean supposed. "When did you turn into sleeping beauty? I expect you to be sharper than this. You get all fat and lazy waiting for me?"

Dean yawned and scratched an armpit. "Where the hell you been for three days, Dad? By the way, you look like hammered shit. What've you been up to?"

John plopped down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs and stared at his usually respectful son. "What's with the new attitude, Dean? And why is your ass still in bed? I told you to get up. We gotta go."

"Hey, you're the one who disappeared for a three days without explanation. Then you blow in here at the crack of dawn and expect me to jump." Dean threw the bedding aside and set his feet on the floor. "I'm not a kid any more, Dad. I don't want to be treated like one."

The bite of the morning air on his skin made Dean realize that he was complete naked. He grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and slipped it on.

"When the hell did you start sleeping nude?" John was strangely enough, shocked. "You should never do that. You know better. Something busts into your room in the middle of the night and you're going to be running through the parking lot with your ass hanging out. What's going on with you Dean? "

Dean felt his teeth begin to lengthen. This man, his father or not, was getting under his skin. Things had changed. He had changed and he wasn't going to be the quivering, deferential pup anymore.

"Listen, buddy," he started to say.

"What did you call me?" John roared. "What the hell happened to sir? I'm your father and I demand some respect."

"Well, good fucking do for you." Dean roared back. "You want respect? Well then earn it."

John's face was actually funny to look at. His mouth dropped open and his eyes expanded. "Dean, whatever the hell is going on just drop it. Drop the attitude. I came here to pick up my hunting partner, not some cocky bastard with an attitude. Let's get back on track. Get dressed and pack up your shit. The wolf I've been tracking busted loose last night. We have a dead shaman and a woman's body down a hole. Now come on. Let's hunt this bitch."

If he didn't think it would get him killed Dean would have started laughing. Here he was, being asked to investigate his own killings. God did have a sense of humor. Dean sat back down on the bed and pulled his duffle closer. Diving into it he dug up clean clothes and pulled his boots out from under the edge of the bed. He calmly started getting dressed without even a glance at John Winchester. He hoped John wouldn't notice the fang marks on his right boot. Dean wasn't in the mood to think up a quick, believable lie.

As he leaned over to lace up his boots John Winchester decided it was time to slap his disrespectful son on the back of the head. That didn't have the response John expected. Instead of Dean ducking and dropping his head the kid came up off the bed like a rocket and climbed into John's face.

"What the Hell, man? You want me to hunt, I'll hunt but you keep your hands to yourself. I'm not Sam and I'm not a little kid you can knock around anymore." Den came very close to punching his father in the gut. John raised his hands and backed away.

"Dean, what's the crap about Sam? I never laid a hand on Sam. If you're looking for someone to blame for Sammy leaving, look in the mirror." Dean noticed John didn't even acknowledge the accusation about knocking his older son around.

Dean wanted to transform so bad his teeth itched. He could feel his finger nails growing in to claws. It took a major effort of will but he got control back before he started sprouting fur.

"Let's go." Dean spoke between clenched teeth.

"Fine," John grabbed his duffle and headed for the door. "You just watch your mouth in public, Dean. There are other Hunters here and I would like to keep their respect even if somehow you've misplaced yours." John glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door. "Hey, are you hung over? Were you out last night maybe near the bar down the street?"

"Yeah, maybe" Dean replied still fuming. "What about it?"

"That could be a lead. That's where these people were killed."

John and Dean climbed into the Impala. The atmosphere was as unfriendly as possible. Dean stared out the passenger window while John got a death grip on the steering wheel. Even after John loaded a tape the tension in the air was still pretty thick. Dean was praying he wasn't broadcasting any kind of supernatural vibe. Sooner or later John would notice the feeling.

After going through a drive through for biscuits and coffee they pulled up in front of the bar. For the first time Dean saw the name of the place: "Mel's". To the best of his memory last night some of the letters hadn't been working. It didn't bother him then it still looked like a rundown neighborhood bar now, kind of harmless. Inside he had found what he thought was a treasure. The tall, rangy dark eyed woman had suckered his drunken ass out the door pretty quick. From a cozy bar to a muddy hole in the ground wasn't that far apart as a monster traveled.

Down the road near the woods there was a coroner's van and a couple of police cars still parked. John and Dean sat in the Impala and just watched. "We have to get a closer look at those bodies." John murmured. We need to figure out what we're hunting here."

"What the hell were you doing for three days while I was rotting away in the motel, Dad? Dean grumbled. "Three days and you still don't know what you're hunting?"

John turned at glared at his son. "Dean, if you are going to keep this up maybe you should just get out of the car and let me work by myself. I don't trust you to watch my back in your current humor."

"So you think this is humor, do you?" Dean laughed out loud for the first time, allowing himself to let go. "Maybe you're right. Why don't I just grab my duffle out of the trunk and go? Sammy did it."

John strangled the steering wheel again. "Normally I would say you would find out when you needed to know but this is the story. I've been following a trail of bodies from Sioux Falls for a couple of weeks. I thought at first it was a regular werewolf. The more I poked around the more often I heard it was a woman. I know wolves can be female too but this sounded a lot like the changes weren't following the phases of the moon. Too many of them were too close together. I'd pick up a trail and then it would peter out on me. Got to the point where I didn't know what the hell I was chasing. While you were in the motel where I hoped you would be safe I backtracked over our path trying to see if I missed a signal or something. I hear more and more about this tall good looking woman. Where ever she went somebody died."

John took a breath. "Then last night this happened. We have a one dead shaman. I hear they are explaining the death as an animal attack. We also have the body of a woman down in a tiger trap. If she's the wolf then there's something else out there. We have to get inside the coroner's office and find out the cause of death."

Dean considered John's words. Of course the man was getting a little close for comfort. If John found out about the silver bullets in her head he would suspect another Hunter. If John actually saw the woman's body wearing Dean's face that would open up a whole can of worms. Dean decided to stay and be helpful. He had to make sure her face was too damaged to be recognizable. Now he was kicking himself for not destroying the body no matter how tired or sick of it all he had been.

While they had been parked the coroner's van had been loaded with two black body bags.

Dean nodded out the window. John had been stuck on Dean's face instead of watching the action. "There they go now. I guess we should follow them into town. I have no idea what kind of building this place would use as a morgue."

They watched a little while longer as the van moved slowly down the road. The police cars never moved. Dean assumed that the cops were still scanning for debris or trace. He smiled grimly. "Good luck with that, boys." He thought about his coarse grey wolf fur. May they have joy of it.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

"Well isn't that just as convenient as all get out." Dean laughed.

They had followed the van at a very safe distance. Evidently the driver was most considerate of the dead and drove slowly and solemnly. When the man parked the van to the side of the county court house and stepped out Dean got a good look at him. He was old, dried up and looked more like a corpse than anyone should have been comfortable about. The old man went around to the back of the van and slid out the collapsed gurney with the first body. Wheeling it along he took it to a ramp under a sign that read "County Coroner's Office" and the gurney disappear through a pair of flapping doors.

Dean and John got out of the Impala which John had parked in the shadow of the building next door. As they approached Dean noticed on the other side of the courthouse building a similarly lit up sign that proclaimed "Police". Dean put an elbow into John's side.

"Look, Police, coroner and court house all together in one place. It's like one stop legal shopping."

"Shut up Dean," John murmured back. "Let's not spook our favorite corpse handler."

The old man had come back out for the second body. The two Winchesters slipped thought the double doors behind the man's back.

Now Dean had to make a move. Anytime now John would go looking for that woman's body and there was no way the man would not notice his son's half formed face.

Dean leaned in. "Dad, I'm going to go scope the place out. Find out if there's anyone else around. Why don't you wait for the guy to come back with the other body then follow him? I'll be back as quick as I can."

John wrinkled his brow. "Who put you in charge of issuing orders, boy?"

"Don't argue; not now, damn it." Dean snapped back and then ninga'd up the hall and out of sight. He had noticed an arrow painted high on the wall with the word "Police" stenciled below it. Just as he expected the hall lead straight into the police office. There was no one there.

A place this small most likely had sent everyone out to the scene of the double murder. This had to be the highlight of the entire police year. Dean swiftly found the locker room and transformed into the spitting image of one of the retained officers whose picture hung in the hall. He thought he could possibly create himself a uniform. He had never seen a naked shape shifter running around but it was just easier to steal a uniform out of an open locker. If was only the work of a minute and Lt Daniel O'Bannon was back on the force again.

Dean grabbed a police rifle out of the carelessly unlocked gun case and fled back down the hall. The entire change had only taken under ten minutes. He hoped the John hadn't pulled anything too difficult to clean up in the time he was gone.

As he flung himself around the last corner he breathed a sigh of relief. There was John with his back turned, watching the old man wheel the second gurney down a side hall. Dean slithered up behind john and poked at him with the rifle barrel.

"Alright man," he growled as low as possible. "Put your hands up. What are you doing here? Come to peek at those bodies again, you sick bastard?"

John raised his hands slowly and Dean stepped back out of range of his father's hands. Good thing he did too because the first thing John tried was whirling to try and grab the barrel of the rifle." Dean clicked the safety off.

"No you don't," he growled again. "Now you just walk in front of me and get on down the hall.

Just then the old man from the morgue came to find out what the noise was all about. Dean hoped that the face he was wearing wasn't the face of a dead man.

"As I live and breathe," the old man quavered. "Is that you Daniel? I thought you were in Florida."

"Just visiting," Dean whispered, hoping to disguise his voice. "They called me in to cover while they went out to the murder scene."

"Well stop by and visit before you leave again, Dan. Coffee's always ready." The old man waved and headed back down the hallway to the morgue.

Dean herded John Winchester down to the police station and locked him in one of the open cells against the wall. Dean slammed the cell door and luckily it locked with a padlock so he didn't need a key. He had no intention of letting John Winchester back out that night so it was all good. John was sputtering and mumbling but there wasn't a lot he could say especially when Dean pulled his deaf old man act.

"Don't do any good to talk to me." Dean told his father in his most irritating manner. "Talk to the regular cops when they come back. I'll just tell them I found you sniffing around the corpses. That should do it." Dean turned away and stopped at the locker room by the back door. There he turned back into Dean Winchester again and tried as well as he could to put everything back where he had found it.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

He hated to do it but he bopped the old man on the head. The old guy never saw him coming. After the old man went down Dean checked his breathing and tried to make him as comfortable as possible with a pillow under his head and a sheet from one of the gurneys s wrapped over him. Walking over to the occupied tables Dean pulled the sheet off the shape shifter's face. Yes, this would have caused a lot of trouble. She definitely had made excellent progress in copying his face. Extending one hand he grew an impressive se t of claws and opened her face from forehead to chin. While he was in there he thought "What the hell" and went feeling around for his bullets.

Finishing his treasure hunt he looked over the mess he was leaving behind. No way was any one going to see Dean Winchester's face in that welter of ruined flesh. No way was any one going to see a face at all. Checking the old man again who was breathing deeply as if he was just sleeping Dean strolled out tossing his bullets with one hand, up and down, very clever.

He got back into the Impala and used his extra key. He would come back in the morning to get John perhaps or perhaps not. He thought he'd think about it overnight and see if he could come up with a good lie. John deserved a night in jail. The man had smacked Dean out of bed at ridiculously early hour. Dean though he'd go have a nice dinner with the money he found in the glove compartment and see what happened after that.


	3. Chapter 3 - Go, Went, Gone

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Go, Went, Gone**

 **From Chapter 2**

 _Finishing his treasure hunt he looked over the mess he was leaving behind. No way was any one going to see Dean Winchester's face in that welter of ruined flesh. No way was any one going to see a face at all. Checking the old man again who was breathing deeply as if he was just sleeping Dean strolled out tossing his bullets with one hand, up and down, very clever._

 _He got back into the Impala and used his extra key. He would come back in the morning to get John perhaps or perhaps not. He thought he'd think about it overnight and see if he could come up with a good lie. John deserved a night in jail. The man had smacked Dean out of bed at ridiculously early hour. Dean though he'd go have a nice dinner with the money he found in the glove compartment and see what happened after that._

 **Chapter 3**

It was the light that woke him. He could see the warm reddish glow through his closed eyelids. It was definitely morning. He yawned so wide that his jaw clicked when he shut it. Then he stretched. He carelessly punched one hand into the headboard but the other went sideways and passed over what felt like the hair on somebody's head.

Now he was wide awake. "What the hell?" He gasped then sat up. Someone was in the motel bed with him; a female someone judging by the shape of the naked shoulder peeking out from under the motel comforter. He checked under his half of the blanket just to be sure. He was naked too. "Crap." He thought again. This was not like him, not like him at all.

The woman muttered in her sleep. He was disturbing her. Great. He rolled his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him? He slid carefully out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. On the way he spotted his pants on the floor and grabbed them up to take with him. It was a tad nippy in the room.

Once in the bathroom with the door closed he sat down and regrouped. He pulled on the jeans and grabbed a bath towel to wrap around his shoulders. First of all, was he hung over? He rested his head in his hands. If he was it was the mildest hangover ever. But he must have gotten drunk at some point otherwise his memory would not be so screwed up.

As he sat on the closed toilet seat bits and pieces did start drifting back. Kelly, her name was Kelly. That was the first clear thought he had. With her name the rest of it flooded back; stopping at the bar for a celebratory drink, the warmth, the music, the feeling of being human among humans. The memories roe up like bubbles in beer. If he had stuck to beer he would have never brought her back to his room. It was one of the Winchester rules, passed down from father to son. Never let a woman know where to find you. One of his better rules and he had broken it without a second thought. It was a good rule; right up there with no fucking in the Impala.

More and more images came back: John Winchester's face behind bars, a definite problem. Peering out of the Impala's rain streaked windshield at neon lights beside the highway searching for a place to stop. The flashing of more neon on the window of the diner as he gulped down a very rare steak; the taste and smell of the blood on the plate rocketing through his brain, that part of the night was becoming clear.

Finally he remembered the bar. He remembered the smell of packed, sweaty human bodies, the sound of pounding rock-a-billy music, the taste of spilled beer hanging in the air and over all of it there was the light, enticing flavor of female hormones making his nose tingle. He was half way to transformed. He was a wolf tracking the smell of some bitch's heat.

He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. There was one final memory that he didn't even want to look at twice. He pushed it down and away. Christ, he was covered with fur and all he could see was the back of the woman's head. That was beyond bad. That was filthy. That was, above all, dangerous. He prayed it hadn't really happened like that.

Her voice penetrated from the other room. It slipped under the door and assaulted his ears. "Dean? Are you in there Dean?"

Well, at least she didn't sound pissed. She only sounded somewhat doubtful.

He stood and decided to face the music. Opening the door he stepped out dressed in only the jeans and his friendly bath towel.

"Kelly," he smiled. "You're awake. Good. I was just going to take a shower and after that, what about breakfast?" He could have slugged himself. Why did he say that?

She was still lying on her belly and the comforter had slid down to her waist. There were definite fresh scratches on her back but they were not serious. He had a faint hope he might be able to get away with this fuck up if she was more hung over than he was.

She sat up and swung her feet off the bed. Her hand immediately found her right shoulder and she rubbed at some scratches there. Dean could see the marks clearly from the other side of the room; four parallel scratches. There was a matching set on her other shoulder.

"That's nice of you Dean," she replied as she leaned over and searched the floor for her clothes. "But I live just down the block from here. I'd rather go home and get cleaned up in my own bathroom." Now she was rubbing the other shoulder and cocking her head trying to see what was bothering her so much.

"You were a little bit rough last night, cowboy."

"Sorry. I guess I got carried away. I had just a little bit over my usual limit. I hope I didn't hurt you badly."

"Nothing that won't heal up, I think." Kelly replied and stood to pull up her jeans. "Go on and take your shower. Don't worry about me."

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When he came out of the bathroom later, a towel tied around his slim hips and using another towel to dry his hair, she was gone. He rarely had been the one who got left behind. It was normally the other way around. He had a habit of slipping out of the bed before the woman woke and ask him for something he was not willing to give like love or his phone number or perhaps his last name. He would leave a note or sometimes if he got going very early, a cup of coffee and a muffin behind.

It was strange to be on the other side of the mirror as he was this time. He shrugged it off and thought maybe he'd look for her again tonight. For just a second he fell back into wolf mode and sniffed the air, catching just the hint of her scent left behind. He thought it might not be a problem, tracking her right to her door. It was an option, at least.

He had to at least check her out again tonight to make sure she suffered no ill effects from her unwitting liaison with a monster. He may have scratched her up pretty good but at least he had not bitten her. He was fairly certain that he had to bite to pass on the infected skin walker cells. He swore to himself that from now on he was going to be a lot more circumspect about both his drinking and his casual hookups. He certainly didn't need to be caught in some girl's bed dressed up in one of his furry suits.

Well, he had an undoubtedly grumpy Hunter to go rescue from the local police station. John Winchester would be damn ready to be rescued by now. Dean hoped that his father had kept reign on his temper. There would be no rescue if John had taken his anger out on one of the deputies.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean parked the Impala across the street from the County Courthouse building. In the daylight it was a busy place. Chamberlain was the county seat of Blue County but the population was just 2,300 people, not exactly a metropolis. He assumed that the surrounding area and all the traffic on Route 90 crossing the state made Chamberlain an important place. River crossings were always powerful places in any history and Chamberlain overlooked the Missouri River.

He sat and considered John Winchester. The only way he was going to know what was happening to the man was to walk into the lion's den He seriously considered driving away, heading West and leaving the man to his fate. If he did that he could simply go feral and give up the human life. He was a monster now according to his father's simplistic universe and fair game. Black or white, human or monster, Dean doubted that John would make an exception to the rule for his first born son.

The decision was even more difficult when Dean considered Sam. If he gave up his father, his father's contacts and the entire Hunting community did that mean he was also giving up any hope of seeing his brother again? Dean sat so long in the car considering the future that he wasn't that surprised that some of the cops pulling into the station were giving him the hairy eyeball.

Finally he slammed his hands on to the steering wheel and flung himself out of the car. He locked it and playing catch with the keys the same way he had played with the bullets last night he made his way across the street and through the cop shop doors.

He walked through the collection of hookers, drunks and ambulance chasers gathering in the wide hallway and approached the Desk Sergeant's counter. Two fresh faced rookies were manning the desk.

He barely had time to open his mouth when they all heard a roar from the back of the station.

"It's bout' fucking time, Dean Wyman " His father's voice cut through the station.

At least Dean knew the name John was using now. He let his shoulders slump and his head drop. "I'm here to collect John Wyman." He muttered to one of the patrolmen.

The young cop lifted his eyes to Dean's face. "He someone to you?"

"Yeah, that's my Dad." Dean replied. "What's he in for?"

The young cop rolled his eyes. He didn't even have to look it up. It was a small station, all open plan. There was no hiding the bear of a man far back in one of the freestanding cells. "Drunk and disorderly, breaking and entering, trespassing and being a general pain in the ass."

Dean rubbed his face in feigned dismay and disgust. "That sure sounds like my Dad." John Winchester's voice was still in background but not as loud as his initial yell to Dean. It sounded more like thunder far away. It was the sound of storm clouds gathering and nasty weather on the way.

"What's the damage?" Dean heaved a huge sigh. Just then the Sergeant showed up.

"Look kid, we don't necessarily want to give you anymore grief than you already have." The man said. "The magistrate saw us early this morning and left it up to the station to decide the best way to go. If we release him to you can you make your best effort to get him to the hearing on November the twenty third?" The senior officer pushed some paperwork over to Dean. "To tell the truth we just want him and his hallucinations out of here. He's been nothing but trouble since last night."

"Hallucinations? What kind of hallucination? Has he got the D.T.'s again?" Dena sounded like a guy riding on his last nerve.

Inside Dean was laughing his ass off. He was looking forward to getting John Winchester in the car. The big time Hunter was a well-known drunk in the eyes of the Chamberlain P.D.

"He insists that he was put in that cell last night by one of our retired officers. Something happened last night and it's a good thing for your father that Otis who works in the morgue also claims to have seen Lt Daniel O'Bannon last night or we'd be holding on to Mr. Wyman for assault and desecrating a corpse.

The Sergeant shook his head sadly. "Your dad was evidently drunk out of his mind and Otis is getting on in years but they both claim to have seen Dan O'Bannon here last night. First thing Detective Frances called Florida and talked to Dan. Dan just laughed and asked why the hell he would come back to Chamberlain when it was eighty five degrees on the beach. So no, it wasn't Dan O'Bannon here last night but it was somebody. We don't know who or why they wanted to tear up that poor woman's corpse."

Dean tried to look harmless, the beaten down son of a violent drunk, "Can I get my Dad out now? I'll do everything I can to get him back here in time for the court date."

"Sure, kid. I'll go get him." The Sergeant grabbed a key ring from under the counter and walked away.

Dean wondered if he had knocked some years off his face without thinking. The Sergeant was treating him like he was a teenager. He looked around for a shiny surface to check. It would be a problem if John Winchester noticed that his son was half a dozen years younger than he should be. Not finding anything useful Dean just lowered his head and concentrated on the face he saw in the mirror every morning. Hopefully it would work. He didn't even know if it was needed but he would much rather be careful than caught.

A couple of minutes later John Winchester was coming through the gate from behind the counter. Dean grabbed the man's elbow and tugged him down the hall as quick as he could. John was muttering and cursing but didn't fight about their rapid departure from the Chamberlain Police Station. He wanted to leave as fast as Dean did.

Once outside Dean kept moving across the street to the Impala. Once there John put his hand out for the keys.

"No way," Dean growled. "I just got you out of jail where they think you're a major drunk. I'm not giving them a reason to stop us. Get in the car." He slammed into the driver's seat and turned the engine over. Reaching over to the passenger door he unlocked it and John climbed in.

"Where the Hell have you been, boy?" John snapped. "I was ready to go hours ago. And while we're at it, where the hell did you go last night? I never saw you again after you went down that hall. Maybe we need to sit down and I'll give you a major attitude adjustment. I don't like your smart ass responses lately."

John reached out to slap Dean on the back of the head. It had become a habit with the man lately. This time however Dean's arm moved like a snake and snatched the Hunter's hand right out of the air. "I told you yesterday, John. Keep your hands to yourself. I'm not a little boy you can slap around anymore."

John jerked his wrist out of Dean's grasp. "This is what I'm talking about, boy. I'm your Father and you owe me some respect."

"You don't listen very well, do you John?" Dean snapped back. "I also told you yesterday that you'll get respect when you earn it and not before. Last night I ran into that O'Bannon guy, just like you. I ran for the exit and got away. Now what are we doing about this hunt of yours or are we leaving Chamberlain and crawling back to Sioux Falls? Are you beat yet?"

Dean had been driving aimlessly. He was just getting away from the Courthouse Building.

John pulled away and turned his head, looking out the window. He rubbed his wrist with his other hand soothing the potential bruises Dean might have caused.

"'Go to Mel's Bar." John grumbled.

"Christ it's only noon. You want a drink already? Maybe the Cops are right about you."

John made an abortive movement toward Dean's head but stopped himself when Dean glanced over. "They serve food there too, Dean. It's a Hunter's bar. I want to talk to some other Hunters about this wolf I'm chasing. Something's not right, not right at all. It's changing at all phases of the moon; it appears as a woman in the day but could be anything at night. I'm wondering if it was the cop last night."

John sounded meditative and Dean became very still. John Winchester was a hell of a Hunter. He was beginning to wonder if John was beginning to piece the puzzle together.

"It's possible I've got this hunt all wrong. Maybe it's a werewolf a lot of the time but maybe it's something else too." John got quiet. "I'm beginning to think we might be chasing a shape shifter who likes to pretend it's a werewolf."

Dean laughed out loud in spite of the fear rising inside. "Don't you just hate it when the monsters get creative?"

"Maybe so," John replied with a smile. "Let's get to the bar."

Dean turned around and headed back the way he had come. He was a monster about to throw himself into a gathering of Hunters. He hoped that none of them were psychics.


	4. Chapter 4 - Running with the Devil

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Running With the Devil**

 **From Chapter 3**

 _John sounded meditative and Dean became very still. John Winchester was a hell of a Hunter. He was beginning to wonder if John was beginning to piece the puzzle together._

" _It's possible I've got this hunt all wrong. Maybe it's a werewolf a lot of the time but maybe it's something else too." John got quiet. "I'm beginning to think we might be chasing a shape shifter who likes to pretend it's a werewolf."_

 _Dean laughed out loud in spite of the fear rising inside. "Don't you just hate it when the monsters get creative?"_

" _Maybe so," John replied with a smile. "Let's get to the bar."_

 _Dean turned around and headed back the way he had come. He was a monster about to throw himself into a gathering of Hunters. He hoped that none of them were psychics._

 **Chapter 4**

Dean wasn't that surprised when John directed him to Mel's. God was getting his giggles screwing with the younger Winchester. Dean wondered just how long it would take for John to find out that his son had left last night with the object of his hunt. John had chased after the tall, willowy, dark-haired woman half way across the state. He wasn't going to back down now.

Inside the place was busy even if it was only early afternoon. The lunch rush at Mel's consisted of Hunters coming and going. Some were just getting up after sleeping in the rooms upstairs overnight. Some were just arriving from the road; dirty, dusty and thirsty.

John and Dean strolled in looking for lunch. Dean wanted a beer and some food. John wanted more than that. He wanted conversation, information, confirmation that his Hunt was on the right track along with his lunch burger and beer. John ran his eyes over the Hunters on offer and settled on an old, skinny guy seated on a bar stool up front.

John turned to Dean. "Why don't you go find us a table and order me a beer and a burger? I'm going to go talk to Paul Raffi over there." John jerked his chin at the skinny old Hunter who looked to be nodding off over his own beer.

Dean bobbed his head, and wandered off looking for a table out of the traffic where he could get a wall at his back. He watched John climb on a barstool next to Paul Raffi and initiate a conversation. The two Hunters leaned toward each other and gestured, their heads slowly gravitating together, keeping their conversation low key and private.

Dean found an out of the way table and pulled a chair around to back onto the wall. He left himself a clear path in the direction of the main door but made sure he could watch the back exit at the same time. This was standard Hunter habit, worked under his skin and into his soul after years of trailing around after John Winchester. It was second nature now and marked Dean as one of the Hunters as clearly as if he was wearing a sign around his neck.

No one remembered who Mel had been. The bar had been perched on the bluff overlooking the Missouri River seemingly forever but most likely, judging by the age of some parts of the building, since the railroad went through South Dakota in the late eighteen hundreds. The age of the place didn't matter; it was on the Hunters' radar as a place with rooms, food and beer and where no one asked questions about people's personal business. If the bartenders and waitresses noticed that the clientele had a tendency to show up bloody, beaten and silent they didn't talk about it.

Dean sorted through the guys sitting around the tables. No one was staring at him in particular. A lot of them sat alone but those with partners or friends in tow all seemed to be talking about the older Winchester. A number of them kept their eyes on John. Dean assumed John had most likely pissed off half the people there and owed the other half favors. That was the way John Winchester rolled through life.

If any of the men were interested in John's son it certainly didn't show. Dean heaved a sigh of relief and perused the laminated single sheet menu.

In a bit one of the waitresses came over to take his order. She looked as old as the building but still was moving around pretty well. Lenore was the name embroidered on her shirt but when Dean greeted her the most she did was nod and whip out her order pad. No gossip here was the message. Dean gave Lenore their orders and she disappeared.

Their beers appeared as if by magic and Dean went on staring at the back of John's head as he thought about what he wanted to do next.

"You Winchester's boy?" a voice rumbled at him and Dean swung his head around. He'd been watching his father and Hunter Raffi and all the while another Hunter had managed to get close. Dean was disgusted. This kind of carelessness could get him dead.

"Who wants to know?" Dean replied

The other Hunter laughed. "Yep, that's the Winchester attitude right there. I'm Eldon Light, an old, well, I'm not going to say friend, of your Father. I'm more like a working acquaintance of the man." Light extended a hand. "I would guess that you're Dean, right?"

Light was another perfect example of a Hunter who had survived the life longer than most. He was a long tall drink of a man, with skin tanned by the sun and hair bleached by the same orb. Judging just from the scars Dean could see the man had come awfully close to buying the farm a couple of times.

Most noticeable was a long scar that started at the bottom of Light's left eye, passed to the side of his mouth and down over his chin. Another few inches and it would have taken out the man's throat. Even now it looked like a wound that very few would survive

Dean gingerly accepted the man's hand and Light took that as permission to pull out a chair and sit down.

"Not a real sociable type, are you?" Light had brought along his own beer. He lifted it and took a sip. "Take after your old man like that, do you? Good enough."

"What do you want, Light?" Dean asked.

"Well, I think your daddy and I are chasing the same thing. When John gets back with nothing from that old wind bag at the bar maybe we can share."

"What do you think you can tell John that he doesn't know already?" Dean asked. Just then Lenore arrived with the burgers Dean had ordered. She slid a plate in front of Dean and one in front of John's empty chair.

"Does John know that you waltzed out of here late last night, chasing that werewolf woman?"

"Just how do you know that?" Dean had frozen with his burger half way to his mouth then realized what he was doing. He continued on and took a bite of the sandwich, attempting to appear completely at ease.

"I was here, Dean." Light responded. "I saw you go after her and this morning I hear they found a woman's body just up the road. Would you know anything about that Dean-o?"

Light leaned in, crossing the invisible boundary all Hunters had, into Den's personal space. "Didn't tell your Daddy about that did you? I wonder why?"

Light leaned back in his chair, cocky as hell. Dean had pulled his gun out and held it under the table. Light heard the gun cock. "Come on Dean, put that thing away." Light sneered. "You think I'm dumb enough to approach you without back up?"

Light twitched his head toward the back of the bar. "I got my little psychic friend, Gail, over in the corner there. She tells me there's something strange about you. Says, she can't quite pin it down but it's nothing she has felt before. Tell me Dean, did that werewolf bite you last night? If I say boo loud enough will you start growing fur?"

"Shut your mouth," Dean muttered. "I'll blow your guts out and to hell with it all."

"So it's true, is it?" Light responded. He leaned back into Dean's face. "What if I just drop a dime on you to your father? How long do you think it will take John Winchester to hunt you down, mongrel?"

"Shut up," Dean growled. "You don't know what you're talking about." As Dean watched Light's eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder giving the impression that there was someone standing behind Dean.

"Not falling for that one, Light." Dean smiled. "That old chestnut has hair on it."

Just then a hand fell on Dean's shoulder. He shuddered and jumped.

"Who's your friend, Dean?" John Winchester said.

"Not a friend of mine, Dad." Dean replied. "He claims to be an old friend of yours, as a matter of fact."

"Did he really?" John said. "Funny, I don't recognize you, friend."

Light and John Winchester immediately took a dislike to each other. Light stood and John called him a liar. Light called John a stupid bastard that couldn't find his ass with both hands and the two men were off to the races. In the confusion Dean simply backed away from the action, melted into the wall and made his way quietly to the door.

As he slipped out he heard the yelling, the crash of glass breaking, and the bartender hollering for the two idiots to knock it off before he called the cops. Dean figured they might not even notice he was gone until John Winchester calmed down. He was getting some use out of John Winchester's bad temper. That made him smile.

Out of the mess his name floated out. John was yelling for "you useless piece of crap, Dean". Light's voice cut through the air. Dean definitely heard the word "werewolf" tossed like debris popping up from under the ocean's swell. It was a good metaphor. Dean's Hunter life had just crashed like a plane going down.

At least he knew what he was going to do next. He had an entire bar full of Hunters behind him, including his own father, acknowledged as one of the best. All of them were the 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of Hunter. Dean didn't doubt that there were plenty of guns in the room already loaded with silver bullets. In front of him were the relatively open spaces of South Dakota. Along the river to the north took him away from Chamberlain and the houses of humans.

He circled behind Mel's and found where they kept the dumpsters. In another minute a complete set of clothes were deposited on the dark side of the dumpster and a coyote was running for the hills.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean was free and running for the hills. The warm afternoon sun stroked his back and made the field of tall grass that parted in his wake look like the all American field of waving golden grain. It was just South Dakota grasslands, nothing new or strange. What was new and strange was the little coyote moving through it, startling the birds from the grain heads and forcing the field mice back down their burrows and hidey holes.

He had chosen the coyote form immediately back at the bar. He had not even given it that much thought. A wolf was too large and too noticeable running around Chamberlain. It would have elicited comment if it was seen. He had no doubt that wherever he went the possibility of the ever present humans would guarantee a sighting. Humans were everywhere these days. They didn't seem to be able to leave the natural world alone. There were Audubon bird counters, and naturalists and environmental majors and guardians and freaking park rangers everywhere. No place was too isolated or too protected to be safe. It was a wonder that animals weren't charging for photo ops. Dean laughed a doggie laugh. He yipped at his own humor as he ran.

The Hunters would be fanning out and looking for a wolf. Some of them wouldn't believe as the phase of the moon wasn't correct. Dean didn't put a lot of faith in that idea. With John Winchester and Eldon Light in the lead the idea of a shape shifter who liked to pretend to be a werewolf would soon be passing into Hunter lore.

At the moment Dean was pretty comfortable. He didn't think anyone would give a coyote a second glance. They were too small and too common for the Hunters to pay the slightest bit of attention. Dean knew at any moment he could pass out of the Canine form completely. He could become a deer or even a cow if he could find a herd to blend into. Cows didn't wander the forest alone.

If he wanted there was also the option of a cougar if he liked.

He hesitated to become one of the larger birds but that was only due to his phobia about flying. He wondered if it would even apply to a bird form. Supposedly the fear of flying was only a variant of the fear of losing control. If it was his own wings he wouldn't have to depend on anyone else. It might be alright. He filed that thought away. A winged form would be a great way to spy on the Hunters, all Hunters, supernatural or game.

He kept running to the north. He wanted to find a defensible position before night fall. For tonight he was resigned to sleeping outside, most likely as the coyote. He was somewhat worried about perhaps waking up a naked human but the only way he was ever going to know for sure was to try it.

For today all he wanted was to get as far as possible in any form whatsoever from the guns of the Hunters. The further he could travel the less likely he would end up in the rifle sights of any kind of human at all. If he stuck to the woods and stayed away from the little towns and villages scattered up and down the Missouri he could at least avoid the embarrassment of being picked up by animal control. That awakening would be beyond explaining for sure.


	5. Chapter 5 -With Watchful Eyes

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 5**

 **With Watchful Eyes**

 **From Chapter 4**

 _He kept running to the north. He wanted to find a defensible position before night fall. For tonight he was resigned to sleeping outside, most likely as the coyote. He was somewhat worried about perhaps waking up a naked human but the only way he was ever going to know for sure was to try it._

 _For today all he wanted was to get as far as possible in any form whatsoever from the guns of the Hunters. The further he could travel the less likely he would end up in the rifle sights of any kind of human at all. If he stuck to the woods and stayed away from the little towns and villages scattered up and down the Missouri he could at least avoid the embarrassment of being picked up by animal control. That awakening would be beyond explaining for sure._

 **Chapter 5**

He lay in a patch of warm morning sun, stretched out on his belly. Under one extended front paw was the remains of his breakfast; a half-eaten jackrabbit. He was still licking the blood from around his muzzle. The early morning hunt was a hell of a way to start his day. Instead of a warm shower and the rest of his normal routine he had been out in the early morning light, running through the grass looking for prey. The South Dakota landscape now had one less jackrabbit.

Something bit his ear and he brought up a back leg to scratch at the irritation. He stopped pawing at himself when the thought crossed his mind that perhaps the damn jackrabbit had given him fleas. "Nice revenge, Jackass," Dean growled and then went on scratching.

He had slept well enough in his furry disguise, protected from the cold while huddled between the roots of a tree. He didn't know if that was a place favored by coyotes or not. Being a coyote was an entirely new experience for the Hunter. He had some of the animal's natural instincts. He managed to bring down the jackrabbit in spite of the hare's speed and ability to leap about ten feet in a single bound. He had caught it in mid bound by coming in from the side, a technique drawn from combined canid and human cunning.

He stretched and gaped, allowing his tongue to hang out. He took a quick swipe at his hind leg with his long and flexible tongue and then went on rubbing the leg against his ear. Enough was enough. Something now bit him again lower down near the base of his ear. He suddenly was absolutely convinced that there was a parade of fleas traipsing down his back. He rolled over and wriggled in the dirt.

Watching his legs waving in the air he realized he was being undignified but also very dog like. Quickly rising to his feet he shook and a cloud of dirt drifted away in the morning breeze. He craved a shower, some soap and perhaps even a breakfast that didn't bleed. It was time to become human again.

He trotted off down the hill, leaving his half eaten jackrabbit to the tender mercies of whatever scavenger was up and about. He knew that if he continued up the road to the north he was going to find a motel sooner or later. No one seemed to be in pursuit. He could possibly concentrate on becoming human without worrying about getting his ass shot off as he transformed. First he needed some clothes.

He was watching the road for travelers so the sound of human voices close by startled him. He immediately dropped and carefully began to crawl hidden through the tall grass.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

He had come close enough to the highway to be on the edge of a rest stop. There wasn't much in the way of amenities offered. There was a wide flat spot next to the scrub with a picnic table and a fire pit lined with flat rocks. A cheap looking Winnebago wanna-a-be took up all the space. Two very small children, still in diapers, were playing in the dirt far too close to the smoldering campfire while the arguing voices of a couple pierced the morning air. The couple was inside the RV and Dean crept a little closer mainly to listen to the voices but also to keep an eye on the toddlers scrabbling in the dirt. It was a chill morning and both babies were only dressed in diapers and stained T-Shirts. They had socks on but the smaller kid had lost one.

Dean would never had left Sam like this. The kids appeared to be neglected, dirty and Dean suspected, very possibly hungry. The toddler's arms were far too thin. There was hardly any baby fat on the kid.

Dean put their ages at about two and maybe less than a year. The little one wasn't even walking, just crawling around in the dirt.

There was a loud burst of swearing from the RV and the flimsy door flew open, slamming into the side of the vehicle. A tall, skinny guy in a T-shirt and a flannel carrying a can of beer in one hand flung himself out the door. "Go to Hell, bitch." He yelled and then glanced over at the kids.

The baby was on the verge of crawling right on to the rocks of the fire pit. Dean was tensing to leap when the man stuck out a long leg and pushed the kid way with a foot on the baby's bottom. The kid rolled in the dirt, crying and shocked. The toddler ran over to the baby and wrapped his arms around the little one.

At the child's sharp cry a woman appeared in the door of the RV. Well, she wasn't exactly a woman. Dean guessed she could be anywhere from eighteen to maybe mid-twenties. Life had not been easy on her. She was pregnant and had perhaps been pretty at one time. The row of bruises down the side of her face did her no favors. She looked dirty, thin and exhausted. The only one in the group that didn't look sick and neglected was the guy with the beer in his hand.

Dean began to slowly and carefully back away. Once back under the slightly thicker cover of the scrawny trees he stopped to think. This guy had everything he needed; clothes, a vehicle, even a family group for cover. Dean poked his head out above the grass at a cry and he saw the guy strike out at the woman. She was trying to hold on to her baby and corral the toddler with one of her legs and the man took the opportunity to smack her in the face.

"Shut your mouth. I bought them cereal just a couple of days ago." He shouted. "Fuck, use water if the milk's already gone."

She was trying to duck and get the children in the RV at the same time. Dean's gut began to knot up on him. He watched her make her escape as the man tilted his head to pour more beer down his throat.

Dean sat up, exposing his head and yipped. The man focused on him immediately and, just as Dean expected, the guy reached for a shotgun that was carelessly lying against the side of the RV. That was another strike against the asshole, leaving a weapon where the kids could find it. Dean was beginning to look forward to killing this guy.

The man tossed his now empty beer can in the general direction of the fire pit and pulled to shot gun up to his face, aiming at Dean. Dean ducked back down into the scrub and the shot went over his head. Slipping back behind the trees he began to transform, calling back his invisible weight and turning into a larger animal.

A moment later and there was a deer in the woods. It was a pretty thing, all large, liquid, sad eyes and a pale tawny coat. It was a doe. Her light color was accented by white on the underside of her tail and a white bib in front. She stepped delicately out of the trees into the field of tall, waving grass.

Just as Dean expected the guy yelled for a rifle. "Elly, bring me my rifle and hurry it up. Now, Elly, now."

Another few seconds and the woman reappeared in the doorway carrying a rifle loosely by a strap. She seemed stunned by the doe's appearance. There was no way to not see an almost pure white deer standing knee deep in the grass.

"Give me the damn gun, Elly," he man snapped and flapped his hand. "It's going to get away if you keep screwing around."

"You're going to kill it, Rick?" the woman asked and clutched the rifle to her chest.

"Yeah I'm going to kill it." He sneered. "You ever eat venison? That'll keep you and the brats off my back for a while with the constant whining for food." He reached out and pulled the gun out of her arms. Dean took the opportunity to fade back into the trees.

When Rick looked back and saw that the doe had moved into the trees he shoved Elly hard and knocked her to the ground. "See what you've done, you silly bitch? If I lose that deer because you were whimpering about killing it you're going to be real sorry."

Elly scrabbled in the dirt trying to get away from the man. It was good that she did because Rick took a swing at her with the rifle butt before trotting away to the trees. Dean wished the fool could have managed to shoot himself, mishandling a loaded gun that way.

Dean was careful to let just enough of the doe's white hide to flicker between the trees. It was enough to keep the guy on track and pull him ever closer to the stand of trees. The nearer Rick got the deeper into the shadows Dean went.

Rick was not much of a hunter, Dean decided. By this time the doe's unusual behavior would have alerted a more experienced hunter that something was off. The deer should be running as fast as her hooves could move, not fading slowly into the shadows of the wood.

Rick tramped on, clumsy and loud. Twigs snapped under his feet like firecrackers and his constant sotto-voce swearing rumbled through the woods, silencing the birds and the insects. Nature was aware of the danger even if the hunter was too stupid to realize he was being drawn in to a trap.

Dean had transformed and now the deer was gone. He was a man again, perched on a tree limb over the most obvious path. He had judged Rick and decided the man was a definitely a fool and stupidity was icing on the guy's cake.

Predictably Rick took the easiest path and when he passed under Dean's tree one hundred and sixty pounds of naked man fell on his head. Dean had been hoping that the attack would snap the man's neck but Rick survived. Dean was forced to snap Rick's neck with his hands.

Quickly, efficiently and above all, quietly, Dean killed the man and let his body fall to the ground. He squatted next to the body and waited just to be sure. Even if Rick was still alive his neck was broken and there would be no voluntary movements from Rick ever again. Elly's bruises would be allowed to heal this time.

When Rick's chest didn't move for a few minutes Dean began to take on Rick's face and form then set about stripping the body. In a couple of minutes the man on his feet looked just like Rick. His face and the face of the body on the ground were identical.

Dean however had Rick's clothes, his rifle and his wallet. The body on the ground had nothing but Rick's soul. Dean knew he'd have to do something about that. He grinned when he thought about dropping a dime to some local Hunter with a warning to get the guy's body burned or chance a vengeful spirit.

Dean dragged some deadfall over Rick's body and tossed a couple of stones on top. It wasn't much but it would have to do until Dean could deal with it one way or another. In the meantime he was quite willing to let the wood's cleanup crews take care of Rick's body. He hoped that the beetles, vultures and other scavengers would be quick about it. Dean would much rather deal with picked clean bones than a rotting pile of meat.

It was the work of only about a total of fifteen minutes and the man who had walked into the woods apparently walked back out.

Dean had been pleased to find a crap load of money in Rick's wallet. The man had been living in a beat up vehicle with a couple of kids and a punching bag. Everyone looked dirty, hungry and exhausted but Rick was a walking ATM. Dean was going to find out what that was all about he guessed, very soon.

Back at the RV Elly had disappeared. Dean pulled open the side door and looked inside. She was huddled with the children in the back of the small space on a pull out bed. She and the kids all looked scared to death. Dean remembered Rick's threat that she was going to be sorry if the deer got away. He smiled at her and closed the door. Walking around the RV he pulled open the driver's door and got in. He had found keys in Rick's pocket and assumed one of them would start the RV. He cranked it and got a lot of sputtering and misfires.

Hauling himself back out again he went around to the front, opened the hood and got a look at an engine just as neglected as the people inside the vehicle. He sighed and started to hunt for the tools.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

After the first half hour Elly had ventured out of the RV and stood watching him work. Dean knew his way around an engine and he thought he could just possibly keep this pile of abused metal moving until he could find a parts store.

He looked at Elly and smiled again. "Would you mind helping me with this?' he said softly and Elly colored up. "We need to put all these tools away and pack up. I'd like to find a motel first and then maybe some breakfast. Does that sound good to you?"

Elly's eyes got big and she nodded her head violently.

Dean had noticed that neither Elly nor her kids spoke impulsively. As he thought back the only time he could remember the kids making a noise was when Rick had pushed the baby with his foot. The entire situation made Dean feel tired and angry. He had lost his family and mourned for them. Rick had a family and treated them all like crap.

After putting the tool box in the compartment under the RV Dean climbed back into the driver's seat. This time the engine turned over. It wasn't smooth but it was running. That seemed to be a step in the right direction.

Elly came forward and sat in the passenger seat. "If you knew how to work on the engine why didn't you ever do it before?' she asked while fingering a split in her lip.

"Maybe I just forgot for a while," Dean answered as he steered out of the lay over and back out on to the highway.

"How does somebody just forget something like that?" she wondered. When he swung his head back to look at her she shifted away as if anticipating a blow.

"Don't worry, Elly," he said calmly. "Things are going to get better now, just you wait and see."

She sat quietly and stared at him every now and then throwing a look back to check on the kids.

A couple of silent miles and Dean found what he was looking for. It was a Motel sitting next to a diner. It wasn't the most prosperous looking set of buildings but they also didn't look like the setting for a ghost story so he pulled in and parked in front of the motel office. A few minutes later he was back out with the keys to one of the cabins. The place was a group of rustic looking detached cabins. He liked the idea. It was very private.

Once inside he watched as Elly got the kids into the bathroom. He had requested a cabin with a shower and tub. Tubs were better for toddlers and the baby. When she came back out the kids were wrapped in towels and she had her own hair wrapped up on top of her head using a towel as a turban. He finally asked, "What are their names?"

She sat down on the bed opposite him. "I'll tell you their names if you tell me yours." She answered. "I know you aren't Rick. I don't understand it but I need to know just what is going on here."

As she talked she went on getting the kids dry and dressed in worn but clean clothes that she pulled out of a small duffle. Once the little boys were taken care of she started taking care of herself. Now that her hair was clean Dean could see she was a strawberry blonde. Her skin that wasn't covered in fading bruises had a light creamy tone with scatterings of freckles. The bathroom had taken not only the dirt off her face but also the years. He could tell now that she was barely twenty years old.

Dean leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together in what he hoped she would interpret as a non-threatening manner, he said "Look Elly, I can't tell you the whole story but you're right. I'm not Rick. My name is Dean and I'm running from some people. I think you might know all about running."

He was amused by how easily he could make Elly colored up. She was still a pretty innocent person in many ways. She tried to take care of her kids under the most impossible of circumstances. He felt she had a good heart she just needed life to give her a little bit of a break. How she had ended up with an abusive asshole like Rick was a mystery. Dean was pretty sure that he didn't need to know. If she wanted to talk about it he would listen but no one could change their past. She would have to live with the memories of Rick for the rest of her life. Dean only hoped that the kids would forget him.

"So, what are their names?' he asked again and gave her a soft smile.

"Oh," she placed a hand on the toddler's head. "This is Ethan; he's named after my Dad. And baby is Alan, my Mom's maiden name. Rick didn't care what I named them. I don't even think he remembered what their names were."

"Rick was their father, right?" Dena asked.

She held her head up. "Yes, he was. Not that it mattered to him." She put her hand on the swell of her belly. "He acted like it was just something that I did to annoy him." She sighed and then looked down at Ethan who was trying to climb up on the bed beside her. "Did you mean it when you said you would take us out to breakfast? You don't have to but it would be nice."

Dean stood up, startling Ethan. "Sorry," he said to the little boy and then to his mother. "Sorry, I forgot. You all must be hungry. Let's go."

"Dean, why don't you take your turn in the bathroom first?" Elly smiled. "Then we can all go out to eat with every one nice and clean."

Dean remembered the fleas. He prayed she hadn't seen them. That was embarrassing. Of course he had awakened this morning as a coyote. He had become a deer and now he was a family man. No wonder he was forgetful about the fleas. He was lucky he could remember his name or his species at this rate.


	6. Chapter 6 - On His Way

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 6**

 **On His Way**

 **From Chapter 5**

" _Rick was their father, right?" Dena asked._

 _She held her head up. "Yes, he was. Not that it mattered to him." She put her hand on the swell of her belly. "He acted like it was just something that I did to annoy him." She sighed and then looked down at Ethan who was trying to climb up on the bed beside her. "Did you mean it when you said you would take us out to breakfast? You don't have to but it would be nice."_

 _Dean stood up, startling Ethan. "Sorry," he said to the little boy and then to his mother. "Sorry, I forgot. You all must be hungry. Let's go."_

" _Dean, why don't you take your turn in the bathroom first?" Elly smiled. "Then we can all go out to eat with every one nice and clean."_

 _Dean remembered the fleas. He prayed she hadn't seen them. That was embarrassing. Of course he had awakened this morning as a coyote. He had become a deer and now he was a family man. No wonder he was forgetful about the fleas. He was lucky he could remember his name or his species at this rate._

 **Chapter 6**

All nice and clean with shiny faces the little impromptu family left the cabin and strolled to the nearby diner. Elly was carrying the baby and little Ethan was following Dean. The toddler's eyes were big and watchful. He had a ragged little Teddy Bear clutched to his chest. Dean looked down and smiled at the kid. The little one froze then hid the Bear behind his back. It was an instinctive reaction to a threat and it made Dean sad. He wondered how often the little boy had lost his Bear and how often his mother had got it back for him.

"Hey, Ethan," Dean said softly and then squatted down to get on the level of the boy's eyes. "No one's going to touch your Bear. He's a nice Bear. Does he have a name?"

Ethan put a finger in his mouth but kept the Bear behind his back. "Fed," he whispered, "Name Fed."

Den shot a look up at Elly. "He named his bear Fed?"

"No," Elly laughed and pulled Ethan closer to her so she could ruffle the little boy's curls. "Fred, the bear's name is Fred. Ethan's still working on his 'r's.

Dean laughed and stood up. They continued the stroll to the diner. Once inside they found it to be warm, nosy and busy. The smell of bacon frying was breakfast perfume. They found a booth that fit them after the waitress offered to bring a high chair for Alan. The place was full of truckers and sleepy salesmen so all the waitresses of course, cooed over the baby.

Dean handed Elly a menu and she seemed confused.

"Elly, order whatever you want; order for the kids." Dean put a finger directly on the reason for her hesitation. "I've got money, more than enough to cover your breakfasts. Don't worry about it."

"That reminds me," Dean went on talking as he parsed the menu. "Why would Rick have so much money on him? I was completely surprised. Everything about him looked so damn poor. The whole set up screamed flat ass broke. Then I find him packing more cash than an ATM."

"That's not Rick's money," Elly said in a horrified voice. "That's money his partner gave him to make a run up to Pierre. Marty's gonna want that money back."

Dean studied Elly's frightened face. "I guess this guy Marty is expecting something for his money that he's not going to get now that Rick's gone. Will he come after you, Elly?"

Elly pushed her shoulders back and straightened up. "I suppose he would if he can't find Rick. You're the one wearing Rick's face, Dean. I don't know how you can do that but I know if Marty shows up he most likely won't come alone. I wouldn't want to be wearing Rick then."

Dean snorted. "Don't you worry about that, Elly. I'll just pick another mask to wear." He watched as surprise spread over her face. "I'll tell you about it later just order your breakfasts and don't worry about me."

Dean looked at little Alan in the high chair. "You know when my Sammy was that age I fed him scrambled eggs a lot. He also got pancakes with syrup. You have to get it out of their hair later but all babies like pancakes with syrup. They like to squeeze them in their fists and make a huge mess"

Dean loaned Alan one of his fingers and the baby grabbed on then tried gumming it. "The other thing Sammy liked was Cheerios. Dry. Not in milk. That would have been a disaster. He'd pick them up one at a time and gum them like Alan is doing to my finger."

"Who was Sammy?" Elly asked shyly.

"My little brother," Dean said wistfully. "Not so little anymore and I miss him."

Shortly everyone was working on their food. The baby was alternately shoving scrambled eggs in his mouth and squishing them between his fingers. Ally would take a bite of her own eggs then try to corral the mess building up on the high chair tray. Little Ethan was discovering the wonder of crispy bacon and Dean was enjoying the show.

"Give it up, Elly," he laughed. "You can't keep up with Hurricane Alan. You might as well get you own breakfast eaten then deal with it later." The domestic scene was interrupted by the sound of something buzzing.

"Oh yeah," Dean muttered and then dug a cell phone out of the pocket of Rick's jacket. "I meant to ask you about this. " He held up the device so that Elly could see the low battery light flashing. "Do you know where the charger is?"

"It's in the RV," she answered "under the driver's seat." She held out her hand shyly, one finger extended. "Rick called it his business phone and I wasn't ever allowed to use it. Can you see who is calling?"

"It says Biker Dude." Dean answered.

"That would be Marty. He's probably pissed." She sighed. "We were supposed to come back last night. It's only a couple of hours up to Pierre. But the van broke down and Rick didn't know anything about engines. I don't know what to say."

Dean thumbed the phone off and dropped it back in his pocket. "Well, I sure as hell don't want to talk to the guy either. Let's finish up breakfast and get back to the room. I need to get this thing charged up. I have to make a call and to hell with Mr. Biker Dude."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

When they got back to the cabin little Alan almost needed another bath. He had syrup in his hair, just as Dean had predicted along with a light scattering of scrambled eggs. Elly cleaned the boys up and parked them in front of the T.V. She curled up on the bed and watched cartoons with her kids.

Dean climbed into the RV looking for the cell phone charger. He hooked the electronics up in the room. Sponge Bob had never been able to hold his interest so he went for a walk while waiting for the phone to charge.

This piece of South Dakota looked pretty much like any other piece of South Dakota. He went for the walk not so much for the scenery as to have some time to consider a new face. He had been checking out the faces of men in the diner and decided he didn't want to look like anyone who might come equipped with local baggage so he was looking for posters, newspapers, flyers; anything that might have an empty face to copy. He knew he couldn't be Dean with Hunters everywhere and Rick was going to be a much sought after guy pretty quickly. Perhaps it had not been the best idea to hang up on Biker Dude. The guy was most likely already on his way. Dean felt the sudden urge to get back to Elly and the kids.

As he neared the cabin he could hear the goofy cartoon music still playing and hear Ethan's childish giggle. Once inside he made a point of securing the door as best he could and, nodding to Elly, went into the bathroom to stare into the mirror. He had decided to keep Rick's basic face but modify it enough to be "not Rick".

First he made himself shorter and broader. He was thinking about his own body. Rick had been a tall gangling scarecrow of a guy. New Rick was going to be thicker, shorter and a lot stronger; closer to the ground and a hell of a fighter. Dean figured he couldn't use his own face but he could at least use his own body.

New Rick's hair become shorter, tighter and wavier; very much like little Ethan's hair. His eyes were green instead of a muddy brown and his lips were fuller, not so thin and mean looking; more kissable perhaps. Dean smiled. As a last touch, Dean gave himself sculpted cheekbones and deep set eyes.

When he was satisfied he stuck his head out the bathroom door and grinned at Elly. "What do you think, Elly? Does this work?"

Elly sucked in her breath as she took in all the changes. "Looks very nice, Dean," she replied and gave him a thumbs up.

Dean emerged and took his new face out for a short stroll over to the diner. There he picked up a couple of coffees, turned around and came right back to the little family watching cartoons. He didn't even know what that proved. His new face elicited no comments and it didn't fall off on the road so he was satisfied.

Settling in at the small table provided by management in an effort to define an area of the little cabin as a kitchen, Dean turned to Elly.

"Elly, would you mind coming over here for a minute? I don't want to bust up your cartoon fest if you're at a good part. I can wait, if you like."

Elly laughed at his condescending tone and hopped off the bed, moving over to the adult side of the cabin. "What's up, Dean?" She asked with a little smile.

"You know Elly, you have accepted me all too easily. Most people would start freaking out if some guy showed up wearing her boyfriend's face. Then the same guy comes out of the bathroom wearing an entirely different face. You are way too calm about this stuff."

Elly reached over the table and took one of Dean's hands. "Dean, you are my freaking hero. You rescued me. You rescued my boys. I didn't even know how deep in the shit we were until you came out of those woods and treated us like we were worth something. I was bringing yet another kid into that hell and I couldn't see any way out." She started to cry.

"I was a fool. I thought I knew where I was going and that Rick was going to be my ticket out of Valentine. I ran away from people who loved me." The tears were now pouring down her face, dripping off her chin and she ignored them. Dean pulled loose the napkin wrapped around his coffee and wiped her face with it.

She took the damp paper out of his hand and blew her nose so she could talk without sniffing. Little Ethan slid off the bed and came over to hold on to his Mommy's leg. She glanced down at the little one beside her. "Go back to your brother, Ethan. I'm going to be alright. I'm with Dean. It's okay. Go back and make sure Alan doesn't roll off the bed, would you baby?"

Ethan slipped a finger into his mouth, made big eyes and went back to climb up the side of the bed. Dean stood up and went to the little one to lift him on to the bed then came back and sat down opposite Elly once more. She reached for his hand again.

"I don't care what you are, Dean. I've seen monsters. I've lived with monsters and you are no monster. You are the kindest most caring person I have met in years. I'm not going to question you about what you can do or how you can change your face. Whatever else you are, you are a good guy. I don't think you are going to hurt me or my kids. The face thing just isn't as important to me."

There was the sound of motorcycle engines outside the room. Elly lifted her head and fear flashed in her eyes. Someone pounded on the door and a man's angry voice hollered "Rick, you bastard. Come out here you slimy creep."

Dean pulled out the pistol he had found under the driver's seat in the RV. He checked the load.

"Elly," he ordered. "Take the kids in the bathroom and lock the door. Don't come out until I tell you to." When they were safely away he went to the cabin door and opened it on the chain.

"Who the hell are you, buddy?" Dean growled while making sure the man outside caught a glimpse of the silvery pistol raised up to Dean's shoulder and held with two hands.

"I'm looking for Rick, the guy who drives this RV out here. Where is he?"

Dean looked over the scrawny man outside. He could see a couple of other guys behind him trying to break into the camper. One of the guys put his hand on the camper door and Dean sent a bullet his way.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa,' said the guy Dean assumed was Marty. "No need for fireworks, buddy. We just want Rick. Or maybe that skinny little bitch Rick travels with."

"Well, you're shit out of luck," Dean snapped back. "I bought that RV from some guy out on the road between here and Pierre at about mile marker 29 on Route 34. It was broken down and the guy had no idea what to do. He turned the whole mess over to me and I saw him hitch hiking North."

"What about the bitch with the kids?'

Dean poked the gun at Marty again. "She's with me now and you can just fuck off. Tell those guys to get away from my RV."

Marty backed off from the cabin. It was pretty obvious he was looking for another way in. "I don't know who you are buddy, but you better not be lying to me. I'll come looking for you and the bitch again if you are."

"Enough, you asshole," Dean slammed the door wide open and aimed for Marty's leg. "Can you ride with a hole in your leg?" Dean fired and missed on purpose. The bullet threw up a puff of dust at Marty's feet. There were lights coming on all over the motel and people were yelling. Dean watched as Marty went to pull his own gun.

This time Dean didn't miss. He shot Marty in the right forearm. He was satisfied that it would take a hell of a lot of work to put that bone back together. One of Marty's guys turned to run away and Dean got him in the calf. By this time the Motel manager was screaming his head off. He was yelling at Dean. "Put down the gun Mister, the cops are on their way."

Marty's other guy was a complete fool. He turned and fired at the Manager who was dancing around in the parking lot in his pajamas. Dean shot that guy in the upper arm.

"Elly," he yelled. "Move it. Get in the RV." Dean and his little flock of refugees pulled out of the Motel lot just as they could hear the sirens coming their way. Dean figured they would be awfully busy with the three wounded guys and the hysterical Motel Manager. By the time the cops got any kind of a story that made sense Dean hoped the RV would hold together well enough to get him a couple of miles down the road.

It was like driving the Queen Mary but Dean wrestled the RV back through Chamberlain and on to Route 90. He pulled over at the first side road he came to and drove into the South Dakota fields looking for a place to hide. Behind a clump of straggly trees Dean pulled into a dip in the ground, hoping he'd be able to get out when he needed to. He turned off everything and convinced Elly and her sons to be real quiet and maybe go to sleep.

As the silence settled into the early night all he could hear were the sounds of nature setting up for the night hunts. Mice rustled in the grass; coyotes pushed their way through looking for Jackrabbits which, if they had any sense at all, were already in their burrows for the night. He caught the sounds of owls hooting in the night. One thing he didn't hear was the sound of sirens.

He pulled himself out of the driver's side window of the RV and climbed to the roof. He sat under the stars and calmed down. Pulling out the now charged cell phone he put in a call to Bobby Signer, hoping the man hadn't gone to bed yet.

After a couple of rings Bobby's gruff voice rumbled in his ear. "Who the hell is this? Don't' you know what damn time it is?"

"Bobby," Dean said softly. "It's Dean."

"Dean, boy," Bobby was surprised. "Where are you son? There are some pretty strange stories going around about you. "

Dean laughed. "I bet that it's John Winchester that's spreading those stories, right?"

"Yeah, your Dad's got a finger in it but there's also this guy Eldon Light spreading crap around too. What did you do Dean?" Bobby sounded pretty worried. "These stories aren't good. Did something bite you boy? That's the rumor."

"Look Bobby," Dean replied. "No matter what they say, I'm still me. I'm still Dean. It's true that I might have picked up a couple of new habits but I promise you I haven't gone dark side. Maybe I'm a touch shady but I'm still Dean and I'm still hunting the bad guys."

"Just be careful, Dean." Bobby answered. "I'd love to see you. Are you anywhere nearby?"

"For tonight I'm up near Chamberlain but I'll be gone by morning. I can't come by Bobby. It would be a bad idea."

"So did you call just to cheer me up or do you need something?"

"Now Bobby," Dean smiled. "It's not really true that I only call when I need something."

"Could have fooled me," the old man answered. "I can hear a favor coming even if you are four hundred miles away."

"No fooling you, is there?" Dean lay back on the roof and searched the skies for his favorite constellations. "I had to leave a mess behind and I know that it is going to turn into one nasty haunt sooner or later. There's a body in the woods East of Route 34 near a rest area right around mile marker 29 North of Chamberlain. I got run off and couldn't take care of the body properly. He was a real bastard and he kinda got killed awfully sudden. His spirit is going to tear those woods to pieces when he gets going. If you know of any Hunters up there could you get someone to go burn that body properly?"

Bobby huffed. "Not like you to leave a mess like that behind, boy. What happened?"

"I made a choice Bobby." Dean said quietly. "I had to pick between the asshole and a girl with a couple of babies. I picked the family and the guy's body is now out there rotting away in the woods. Do you think you can get someone to go take care of it?"

"Don't worry about it, Dean. I'll get someone out there." Bobby said. "When am I going to see you again?"

"It might be a while Bobby." Dean replied. "I'll call when I can, I promise. I'd like to be able to check in and find out what Hunters might be after me, including Dad and his new best buddy. They are the ones I fear the most."

"Real sorry to hear that, Dean." Bobby went on. "It has to be the worst to be hunted by your own family. I'll keep my ears open. You be sure to call."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean murmured. "I'll make it up to you some day, I promise."

"Just come back to me back to me in one piece, Dean. I don't want to be the one that buries you. Bye, boy." Bobby hung up.

Just talking to Bobby made him feel slightly less alone. He held the phone up in the moonlight and traced out Sam's number in California. He almost dialed it but then decided that it was far too soon to get anyone's hopes up yet. He shut up the phone and lay peacefully under the stars, keeping watch through the night.


	7. Chapter 7 - Over the River

-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Over the River**

 **From Chapter 6**

 _It might be a while Bobby." Dean replied. "I'll call when I can, I promise. I'd like to be able to check in and find out what Hunters might be after me, including Dad and his new best buddy. They are the ones I fear the most."_

" _Real sorry to hear that, Dean." Bobby went on. "It has to be the worst to be hunted by your own family. I'll keep my ears open. You be sure to call."_

" _Thanks, Bobby," Dean murmured. "I'll make it up to you some day, I promise."_

" _Just come back to me back to me in one piece, Dean. I don't want to be the one that buries you. Bye, boy." Bobby hung up._

 _Just talking to Bobby made him feel slightly less alone. He held the phone up in the moonlight and traced out Sam's number in California. He almost dialed it but then decided that it was far too soon to get anyone's hopes up yet. He shut up the phone and lay peacefully under the stars, keeping watch through the night._

 **Chapter 7**

Dean found himself on top of the RV, shivering in the early morning light. He had fallen asleep watching the stars and now most likely was going to pay the price. It was a wonder he hadn't rolled right off the roof and broken something important for his foolishness. He sat up, stretched and had the strangest thought. He was still contemplating the possible fall off the RV when it occurred to him to wonder if he could possibly shapeshift in mid fall.

He peered over the edge. It was about ten feet to the ground. He remembered the old line from The Hitchhiker's Guide. Someone in the book had learned to fly by throwing themselves at the ground and missing. He grinned and wondered if it was possible. Another shiver passed down his spine and he decided to put off the experiment for a while. Swinging in through the driver's side window he climbed back into the RV.

It was relatively warm inside. He glanced back at Elly and the kids, feeling guilty about leaving the window wide open all night but all he could see of them was covered by a pile of blankets. Not a twitch, not a noise, they were all sound asleep.

He grabbed an afghan off the bench seat and removed Rick's dew-dampened denim jacket. Briskly rubbing his arms first he wrapped up and then puttered around the RV, securing it for an early morning drive. They were going to head out West on 90 looking for a place to get breakfast. He didn't know if a description of the RV had gone out during the night but it was pretty much a certainty that the South Dakota cops were looking for him. If he could find a busy diner where he could park out of sight he would switch license plates with some poor innocent. He couldn't disguise the RV beyond that but it was the least he could do.

He had shot three guys in full view of witnesses. The hysterical Motel Manager dancing around in his pajamas had probably pissed himself. If was something of a sure bet that someone was looking for him. Right now driving the RV was like driving a giant billboard with a flashing neon arrow on top. "Come and get him. He's right here."

He laughed. At least he was finding himself amusing. He couldn't drive this bumbling elephant, not in his current body. He was comfortable in his latest skin and didn't want to give it up yet. Elly was going to have to drive this beast.

As he was securing the small items in the overhead storage cabinets Elly appeared at his elbow. She was yawning, stretching and scratching her head. For some reason she made him think of a kitten just waking up.

"Are the boys up?" he asked.

She shook her head no. "They'll be up soon but for right now they're both dreaming."

"Too bad" Dean said quietly. "We need to move out as soon as we can. I want to get as far West as possible. I hope you know how to drive this thing."

Elly grabbed the can of coffee out of his hands. "Hold on, cowboy," she muttered. "We need that." She pulled out the coffee pot and set it up. In a few minutes Dean was trying to remember here he had hidden away the coffee mugs.

The sunrise was finally breaking in through the high windows on the side of the van when he and Elly sat down with their coffee.

"Do you have a destination in mind, Dean?" Elly asked as she rocked her warm mug back and forth between her hands.

"Not really," Dean answered. "I'm just heading west. That's the whole plan. I'm hoping to end up in California before the Rockies get snowed in. I don't think this van will make it over the mountains in the winter and I sure as hell don't want to drive it down through Arizona going around the tail end of the Rockies and into the California High Desert. I don't think it can take that either. It needs a lot of work and new parts. I can't do that on the side of the road, especially while hiding from the cops. Why, do you have somewhere you want to go?"

The young mother finally looked up. "If you loan me that phone I'd like to call my Dad. My parents haven't heard from me for the past couple of years. They don't know if I'm alive or not and they certainly have no idea that they're grandparents either. I'd like to talk to Dad and see if I still have a home to go back to."

"Where was that, Valentine?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Valentine, Nebraska; do you know it?"

"Yes, my family drove through there once a long time ago. I remember the big Red Heart." Dean laughed. "I think we went and saw the waterfall too. "

"Don't make fun of Valentine," Elly sniffed. "Snake River Falls, the largest waterfall in Nebraska, is right there on the Snake River south of Valentine and Smith Falls, the tallest waterfall in Nebraska, sits on a small stream tributary to the Niobrara River to the East. The Lakota called it the water and waterfall city."

"Okay, okay, I won't make fun of your home town even if I've seen bigger waterfalls in my shower. Back down, Miss Susie Chamber of Commerce. I promise I won't do it again." Dean put his hands up when Elly took a swing at him.

Just then Ethan called out. "Mom, Alan's all wet. Ewww."

"I'm coming Ethan. Be right there." Elly called back to her son. "To answer your question, no I can't drive this thing. Rick wouldn't let me. I don't even have a driver's license. I was just short of seventeen when I ran out on my family and left with the asshole." She abandoned her coffee mug and headed back to her boys.

Dean sat back and scratched his head. There went Plan A. He wasn't going to be able to roam the landscape while Elly drove the RV. He should have known better. The power steering was just about shot. Rick evidently never heard of checking the fluid levels. The way the RV screamed when he turned the wheel probably meant the steering fluid leaked out long ago. This RV was a barely ambulatory basket case. It was a miracle it was still running after being abused for so long; somewhat like Elly.

Plan B was not nearly as attractive. He would drive until they found a safe place to eat and maybe work on the RV a bit. After that he would have to lose his brand new, comfortable body and face and turn into a woman. It set his teeth on edge. It was the best way to hide but he had just got this new body and he liked it. He felt more like himself. Turning into a woman was going way beyond his comfort level. He swore to himself, the first guy that made anything even approaching a pass was going to get decked. He certainly wasn't going to turn into an ugly woman. That was a bridge too far.

The sun was fully up now and the world outside was beginning to warm. The boys were also up and making noise. He knew they had to be hungry but most likely they wouldn't say a word. Rick had scared them into silence. Dean promised himself when he turn the boys over to Elly's Dad they were going to be a little less broken. They would be acting more like little kids and less like little ghosts.

He got into the driver's seat and gave fair warning. "We're pulling out, guys, strap yourselves in."

He had to rock the RV, just as he had feared when he had parked it here. It wasn't that big of a depression but the vehicle was definitely on its last legs. It took some maneuvering but finally he pulled out around the clump of ragged trees and headed on back to route 90.

"Hey, Elly," he called. "You want to make that phone call? It would be nice to know exactly where we're going."

With her hips swaying in sync with the movements of the RV Elly came up to the front. Ethan followed her, one of his hands stuffed into the back pocket of her jeans. She settled into the copilot's seat with the baby in her arms. Little Alan gurgled as he sucked a finger and laid his head on her shoulder. She put out her hand.

"Can I have the phone, Dean?" she said softly.

He handed it over and shamelessly eavesdropped. Elly had a family, a real family. Dean felt as if he might have had that a long, long time ago but he had lost it. He craved the sense of family, like a boy pressing his nose against the candy store window; he wanted the candy but there was none left for the likes of him.

"Dad?" Elly gasped, "Dad, it's Elly."

'I know it's been a long time. Yes, I'm fine. I'm okay now. Is that Mom I hear? Tell her to stop crying, I'm alright. I'm not even that far away."

"In South Dakota, near Chamberlain. Yes, we can come to Valentine. I know it's not that far. HI, Mom. Yes, I'm fine. If you really want me to I'm sure my friend will take me to Valentine." Elly put her hand over the mouth piece and raised her eyebrows at Dean. He smiled broadly and nodded briskly.

"On to Valentine, then," he said and gave the RV a little more gas.

Elly went on with her call. "Yes Mom, I love you too. Can you put Dad back on the phone? I'll just ask Dean to get us there by dinner. Would that be good? Please put Dad on the phone."

There were confused sounds from the phone and then Elly rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad, my friend's name is Dean. He's a good guy. Don't worry. Rick's gone. I don't know where. He's just gone. Yes, Dad, I do say so. "

"Mom," Ethan spoke up. "Hungry, Mom." He pulled on her shirt, disturbing his little brother. Alan gurgled again, blowing bubbles into his mother's neck..

"That's your grandsons, Dad." Elly smiled. "They're hungry. Yes, they. There's Ethan and then there's Alan. Do me a favor and tell Mom for me. She's going to get all excited, you know. Don't let her get all pumped up and raise her blood pressure. Take care of her and you too Dad. I'll be home tonight."

Elly closed the phone and handed it back to Dean. "If I don't cut them off they'll go on forever. It's okay through. They want me back. They want the boys. It sounds like everything's going to be just fine."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

A few miles West on route 90 they came to a wide spot in the road. There was a gas station, a diner and a trashy looking motel. In an open field beside the diner there was a large white tent surrounded by haphazardly parked vehicles of all shapes and descriptions. Dean had seen this before. It was a faith healer's tent. Sure enough as he drove by heading for the diner he saw a crudely painted sign nailed to a leaning post; "All Faiths Church Outreach. Pastor Joseph Welcomes You.".

"Oh, look," Elly grinned. "Breakfast, gas and free entertainment."

"Bite your tongue, you heathen," Dean laughed back. He wondered how Rick could have ever hit this girl. Rick had been a fool and Dean wasn't sorry one bit that the man's body hopefully had gone up in smoke last night or maybe this morning. If anyone ever deserved to be erased from history it was that loser.

Dean pulled into the diner's parking lot but left the RV running. "Elly, get out and take the boys inside for breakfast." He pulled some money out of his shirt pocket. "I got to go make an adjustment to the RV but I'll be along shortly. Just wait for me. When I show up I might not look like me. No matter what if a stranger walks up to you and uses the word 'chipmunk' it will be me. I'll say something probably stupid about the boy's being your cute little chipmunks or Ethan has chipmunk cheeks. Some kind of stupid remark but the code word will be chipmunk. You'll know it's me no matter how I look. Got it?"

"Fine, Dean." Elly replied. "You aren't going to run out on us, are you?" She looked sad and a little worried.

"Elly, I wouldn't do that. Why would you think I'd do that?" he wondered.

"It's been a great couple of days, Dean." She replied. "But I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's kind of what I've learned to expect over the past few years."

"Well, that's not my style. You've been kind to me, Elly. I'm going to be funny and say you've taken me at face value, no matter what face I'm wearing. You're a good friend and I don't have too many of those. I'm not going to run out on you and the boys now. Now, go on and get the kids fed. I'll be along as soon as I can. Remember chipmunk and try not to be too surprised when you see me."

Dropping the little family in front of the diner Dean drove over to the open field being used as a parking lot for the snake oil tent. He had noticed an RV when he had driven by earlier that looked a lot like Rick's piece of crap. He pulled in next to it and snuggled up as close as he could get.

For a minute or two after shutting off the engine he just sat and watched the other vehicle, trying to make sure that it was empty. It was good he had been so careful because a guy came out of the diner and climbed into the other RV. The guy was middle-aged, with slicked back hair and a slightly dingy feeling to him. He was pudgy and walked like he was squeezing his butt checks together. He was wearing a pale blue dress shirt, creased slacks and a too short tie. Dean was willing to bet if the guy wasn't Pastor Joseph he was one of the Pastor's minions.

The guy fished around the driver's seat for a minute then got back out and put on a suit jacket. That completed the very unattractive package. When the guy went back into the diner Dean climbed out and quickly switched license plates. Both vehicles had South Dakota plates and Dean suspected that most likely no one was going to notice the change right away. He imagined the look on the Holy Roller's face if the cops decided to pull him over and question him about the Chamberlain shoot out.

He then drove the short hop over to the gas station and negotiated a deal for an oil change, a lick and a promise tune up and a fluids check on the RV. He could have done it all himself but decided not to spend the time. He told the station owner that his wife would come by to pick up the RV in about an hour and if it was done quickly there would be a tip involved. That lit the owner's eyes up. Dean assumed if your pit stop was too small to even be blessed with a name some unexpected and lucrative business would be very welcome.

Dean zipped into the diner and asked the hostess for the bathrooms. They were located in a small hallway off to the back of the dining room. He waved at Elly as he went by noticing that the boys were wrist deep in syrup and pancakes. There was an open space beside Elly with an empty coffee cup set up and waiting. He passed through and then hung around in the hallway until he was fairly sure there was no one in the ladies' room. He needed a mirror for his next face change.

Once inside the single seat room he flipped the thumb lock and went to stand in front of the mirror. He didn't have a template firmly in mind yet and this was going to be his very first sex change. His hands were sweating and he chewed on his bottom lip.

First he unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt and went for the boobs. He knew very well what they looked like and how they should feel. Of course, that was from the outside. As they grew he was surprised at how heavy they were; at how they dragged on his back and tilted him forward. He stopped himself when they continued to expand. Neat little hands full would be easier on him, he decided. He was not going to go for the Guinness Book of Records yet. Maybe later he'd play around. Right now he just wanted to make it to Valentine.

He stared at his hands trying to remember those fingers he'd watched in other places, weaving their graceful magic; occasionally tickling his flesh and going places on his body. He thought of a very talented lady he had once met in Rapid City who certainly knew how to use her long, delicate fingers in surprising ways. Those hands began to form on the ends of his arms.

He checked the rest of his body. His waist shrunk and he almost lost his jeans. To make up for the waist he carefully expanded his buttocks to soft, touchable pillows, just large enough to keep his pants up. He sloped his shoulders and his shirt flapped a little long, tight only across the front where his tits poked at the fabric.

Finally he made the ultimate male sacrifice. He didn't need a tell-tail bulge tenting the front of his pants. His crotch temperature dropped and there was a sensation of emptiness between his legs.

He inspected his work in the mirror. Now came the hard part. He would have to envision a face. For some reason all he could call to mind immediately was Disney Princesses. For just a moment Snow White looked back at him from the mirror's surface.

He snorted. "Don't think so." He laughed and imagined what Sam would say to that face at his door. He would never, ever live it down.

He made his neck thinner and a little longer. He let dark hair fall to his shoulders and made the huge round cartoon eyes resembled something more human. The eyes were still a startling shade of glittering green, his natural color. He kept the high cheekbones, the delicately arched eyebrows, the straight, smooth little nose and the full, kissable lips. When he was done Snow White looked a lot more human but that face would very likely call anything male within a 20 mile radius.

He tried to modify it but, as always, his first attempt was the best and he kept coming back to that.

He would have kept trying but someone started pounding on the bathroom door. "Come on lady, my kid needs to go." A woman's irritated voice rang out.

He released his death drip on the sink and checked quickly around him. Finally he was ready to go face Elly. He took his first step as a woman and almost fell on his face. He would have to practice walking. The weight distribution of this body was a foreign land. He now thought he might understand why women walked the way that they did. It was a matter of staying upright.

He opened the door and held it for a middle aged, cranky woman and her dancing off spring. "I thought perhaps you had moved in." the woman growled and pushed past without looking up.

Letting the door close he moved, slowly and carefully, toward Elly. Elly had evidently been watching for him. The look on her face was hilarious. Elly's mouth fell open and her eyes got large.

"Holy crap, Dean" she gasped as he got closer. He slid into the bench seat beside her.

Sticking to the scrip he muttered. "Nice chipmunks." He looked over to Ethan. The little boy was staring. The only member of the group that was not completely confused was the baby.

"I told you I was going to look different." He turned the coffee cup upright and slid it over to the end of the table. Picking up the menu he hid behind it.

"I was expecting different, Dean." Elly hissed back. "I wasn't expecting a six foot tall Amazon Queen to come strolling out of the bathroom in your clothes."

He glanced over. "Oops. I forgot about the height thing" he said peering over the edge of his menu. Scanning the room he realized that his little stroll had attracted the eye of just about every man in the room. If I guy wasn't looking he was either dead or blind.

"I have to say, it's a great disguise. We just need to get out of here and on the road." Elly reached over to Alan in a useless attempt to guide more pancake into the kid's mouth instead of his ear.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Breakfast over and the kids wiped down, they then headed out for the garage. A couple of guys from the diner made a halfhearted attempt to follow but Dean glared back at them and then, in a burst of genus wrapped his arm around Elly and then kissed her. He thought that might put an end to it but the two guys hooted, whistled and cheered. It seemed to be just what they were looking for.

Reaching the garage Dean shoved money into the dumb struck owner's hand. "My husband said you have our RV." Dean muttered and the mechanics head ducked and bobbed like one of those bobble headed dolls. Not a word made it past his lips.

They climbed into the RV and Dean started it up.

Elly dropped into the passenger seat. "Dean," she said. "You look lovely but we're going to have to tone it down."

"Fine," Dean responded. "I told you, I didn't have anything to look at. This was the best I could do."

He went on, "We're only about one hundred and fifty miles from Valentine. If the RV holds up we should be there in less than three hours. Let's get through South Dakota and out from under the nose of the Highway Patrol, then I'll change back before we get to your Dad's house. How's that?"

Elly smiled at Dean's obvious discomfort. "You almost had a pack following you. It was pretty funny. As long as we don't get pulled over by a love struck cop it should be alright."


	8. Chapter 8 - And Through the Woods

-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 8**

 **And Through the Woods**

 **From Chapter 7**

 _Reaching the garage Dean shoved money into the dumb struck owner's hand. "My husband said you have our RV." Dean muttered and the mechanics head ducked and bobbed like one of those bobble headed dolls. Not a word made it past his lips._

 _They climbed into the RV and Dean started it up._

 _Elly dropped into the passenger seat. "Dean," she said. "You look lovely but we're going to have to tone it down."_

" _Fine," Dean responded. "I told you, I didn't have anything to look at. This was the best I could do."_

 _He went on, "We're only about one hundred and fifty miles from Valentine. If the RV holds up we should be there in less than three hours. Let's get through South Dakota and out from under the nose of the Highway Patrol, then I'll change back before we get to your Dad's house. How's that?"_

 _Elly smiled at Dean's obvious discomfort. "You almost had a pack following you. It was pretty funny. As long as we don't get pulled over by a love struck cop it should be alright."_

 **Chapter 8**

Dean pulled out of the gas station and back on to Route 90 West. The van was responding a lot better now after the mechanic's quick kiss and a promise tune up. The power steering while still stiff at least wasn't screaming any more when Dean turned the wheel.

Safely back out on 90 Dean called Elly back up to the front and she arrived with Ethan in tow. The little boy was still wide eyed.

"I hope I haven't scarred him for life." Dean grinned at Ethan. "I hope he's just too little to understand what's different about me."

Elly glanced down at her son. "He knows something's not right but can't figure it out yet. The world and people are much too strange for him. Everything's new and bright and you're right. He most likely will never forget you."

"Sorry, Elly."

"I understand, Dean. You do what you have to do to keep us safe. I do have to say that shooting three guys seemed a little extreme but I don't even want to think about what could have happened to me and to the boys if Marty had managed to get his hands on us so thanks."

She looked out the window down the long straight road running through the waving grasslands. "So what's up now?"

"Now we run." Dean said seriously. "I have to tell you that this whole shape shifting gig is new to me. It's only been about a week and I've made some mistakes but I'm learning. I now know that the dumbest thing I've done is changing forms in that restaurant. There were too many eyes in that place."

"So you think someone noticed a guy disappearing and a living Disney Princess traipsing through the dining room ten minutes later?" Elly smirked.

"So glad you think it's funny. You get to watch out the back window for suspicious vehicles for the next 138 miles."

"Why 138 miles?" Elly asked.

"That's how far it is to your Dad's house." Dean responded. "In about forty miles we're going to cut over to 183 and head south. That's when I want you to be very alert. If anyone follows us south on the exit I want to know right away."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean babied the crap out of the arthritic RV. It rattled and shook but he gave it no quarter. Every mile that went by was one mile closer to Valentine. Elly took her job very seriously. He could see her in the rear view mirror and she never seemed to turn her head except when one of the boys needed her. Since she was kneeling on the bed the little ones gathered around her knees, curled up and went to sleep.

A couple of miles after the exit to 183 there was a bang from the engine and Dean pulled off to the side of the road. They had covered almost 50 miles in the past hour. Elly had not seen anyone following them and after the turn off Dean had relaxed.

He pulled off and let the engine cool down. He valued his hands even if he could regrow the skin in minutes. A hot engine was an unnecessary risk especially since a mere 20 minutes could make such a big difference. He got out and opened the hood to help with the cooling and cast a critical eye over the jumble of used, ancient and or simply worm out parts.

The air filter looked like it had come adrift. His first thought was that the wing nut had come off. Hopefully that was all there was wrong but he'd wait anyway just to be sure. He looked up the road to see if he could spot the little sucker but it could be anywhere in the last five or six hundred feet and there was no saying that it would have even stayed on the road.

Elly and the boys were hanging out the window watching him. He turned around to climb back in the driver's door forgetting that he currently looked like Xena, The Warrior Princess in blue jeans. A pick up truck crested the top of the little hill behind them and slowed as it approached.

"Why Hi there, Lady," A voice drawled and Dean closed his eyes. He didn't even want to turn around and look.

The pick-up pulled off the road in front of the RV and two doors slammed.

Finally Dean looked up. The guys were standard issue South Dakota cowboys in Stetsons, middle aged, a little paunchy and they were looking at him like he was something Santa left under their tree. Dean swore one of them was drooling.

"Car trouble, honey?" One of them asked. He was the older of the two with dark stubble and a denim sleeveless vest thrown over a flannel. The other guy was dressed pretty much the same but he was noticeably younger and blonde. Dean immediately recognized the John Winchester School of men's fashion.

They kept coming on. "We'll just take a look at it for you, babe. No trouble. We won't even ask to be paid." The older guy said.

"At least not in money," the younger one mumbled but Dean heard him perfectly.

Elly came back to the window and stuck her head out.

"Lookie there George, there's another one for you." The older guy was the man in charge or so he thought.

Dean hopped back on the ground and reached around for his gun, groping at the small of his back. With a chill he remembered that the gun wouldn't stay in his belt since it rode so low on his lady hips. He was going to have to fight and leaving bodies on the road to Valentine was definitely not part of his plan.

The older guy was now right up to the hood of the RV and George was reaching for Dean's arm. Dean tensed but then heard the wonderful sound of a gun cocking. Glancing up he saw that Elly was back leaning out the window with his gun in her hand.

"Now, little Lady," George drawled. "There's no reason for that. We're just trying to help you girls out."

Dean unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "We don't need any help. We're just fine on our own. I will tell you that my friend here is kind of nervous about guns. Her hands get all shaky and it might just go off. Why don't you both get back in the truck and take off before something happens that everyone is going to regret?"

George was backing up holding his hands over his head but Dean noticed that the older man seemed to have disappeared from in front of the RV. There was a scrabbling sound behind him. Dean plastered himself against the side of the RV and grabbed the gun from Elly's hand just as the man tried to rush him from behind.

Dean fired a round at the man's boot as he stumbled by and raised a spray of gravel and dust from the road bed. "Now, you see. That's just what I was talking about."

He waved the gun at the two men and they headed for their truck. "I know you guys don't want any trouble. Just climb in your truck and forget you ever saw us. Keep moving."

George took off his Stetson and smacked the older man in the arm with it repeatedly. "Ernest, you idiot. What the hell did you think you were gonna do? I have no desire to go to jail for you, you decrepit pussy hound. Get in the god damned truck."

Dean listened to George yelling at Ernest all the way down the road. The sweat that had sprung up on the back of his neck was beginning to cool. Elly was still leaning out the window but now she was laughing. He pushed her back in the RV and finally climbed back into the driver's seat.

Twenty minutes later the engine was cool enough for Dean to do an inspection. He found a stray nut in the tool box and fastened the air filter back down. He ran his hands quickly over the engine connections, tugging and testing. He fastened everything down that wasn't already stripped and replaced what he could with the debris from the tool box. He only had about ninety miles to go and he sincerely hoped everything would stay put from now on. They had been lucky that even though it had made a loud noise the problem turned out to be such a minor thing. Shortly afterwards they were back on the road.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

They were almost to the Nebraska border. No further adventures had slowed them down. The boys were peacefully sleeping in the big pull down bed; the old RV had rocked them to dream land. Elly was sitting in the copilot's seat. Passing through the panhandle of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation outside of Rosebud Dean had even convinced her to drive for a dozen or so miles.

Since he was finally getting out of South Dakota if only by crossing an invisible line between two states, Dean had pulled out the cell phone and called Bobby again.

"Hey Bobby," he smiled when Bobby's voice echoed down the line. "It's Dean. I told you I'd call again. Anything new in Sioux Falls?"

"Not much boy," Bobby said seriously. "As long as you aren't anywhere outside of Chamberlain on Route 90 you should be in the clear."

"What's going on Bobby?" Dean was concerned.

"News came through this morning. Some Hunter thought he saw that Shape Shifter woman in a diner outside of Chamberlain. Your Dad and that Light guy had just pulled up outside my house when I got the call. They got all excited and that damn John Winchester pulled the cell phone right out of my hand. He's an asshole, you know. Well, I expect you know better than anyone else. He's your Dad." Bobby still sounded pissed at just the memory of John's rudeness.

"Hey Bobby, no problem," Dean replied. "I didn't get to pick him. He's not my fault."

"I didn't say he was your fault, boy. To tell the truth I don't know how you turned out as well as you did and smart too." Bobby agreed.

"Anyway, John made some calls, on my phone, the jackass, and then him and Light pulled out of here right away. Threw my gravel all over the place" Bobby growled. "Man has no consideration for anyone else." Bobby sighed. "That was about nine this morning so I figure if they drive like hell they might be getting close to Chamberlain by now. It's four hundred miles but it's going on five, six hours since they left. I hope you're long gone from there."

"To tell the truth, boy, I'm more concerned about those calls John made. That could mean trouble. Other Hunters could be out running those roads. Keep an eye out for trouble."

Dean glanced down at the boobs tenting his shirt and shook his long hair out of his face. "Don't worry Bobby." Dean said. "They wouldn't know me if they did see me and I'm not anywhere near Chamberlain now."

"Okay, boy, if you say so I'll stop worrying until I have something to worry about. Oh yeah, I should let you know that John left the Impala here." Bobby sounded more cheerful. "He bought himself a brand new black Yukon Denali SUV. Big, ugly mother, if you ask me. Don't know where the hell he would get the money for something like that."

"He dumped the Impala?" Dean was outraged. "Take care of her for me Bobby, please. Somehow I'll come get her. Please don't let him sell her or give her away."

Bobby huffed. "No problem there, boy. I bought her from him. She belongs to me now and I've got her out in my old garage out back all covered up and safe. I figured you'd want her for sure."

"Thanks Bobby." Dean took a giant breath. "Her and Sam are about all that I have left now; and, of course, you. I count you among the things from my life that I want to keep."

"Good to know." Bobby said quietly. "Even if I never expected to hear something like that come out of your mouth. Sam, maybe, but I got to say you surprise me."

Bobby went on. "Whatever happened between you and John must have been one hell of a blow up. I never thought you'd ever get out from under that jackass's thumb. I'm proud of you boy."

"Thanks Bobby." Dean said quietly. "It might be some time before I see you again. Just so you know, I'm heading for Palo Alto and Sammy but I'm not sure when I'll get there."

"You just stay in touch, Dean." Bobby said. "I'd like to hear from you weekly but I know that's not likely to happen. Once a month would be good just so I don't have to wonder if you're alive."

"I promise I'll call as often as I can, Bobby. Sometimes it might be difficult and I wish I could tell you why but it's better that you don't know. I'll stay in touch."

"Listen, Dean" Bobby spoke up. "I've got an idea. I'll put you on the yard's Medical insurance as an employee. I don't know how I'd get a card to you but if you memorize the numbers maybe someone will get in touch if you end up in a damned hospital someplace. Call me in a week or two and I'll have the details ready."

"That's great Bobby" Dean was honestly touched. "I've never had anyone do something like that for me. When I call we'll work out the details. I don't know where I'll be in a week or two."

"Hell, boy," Bobby answered. "It's not just for you. It's for me too. If you were to up and disappear I hope that card would lead whoever finds you back to me. I don't want to spend nights wondered where you disappeared to."

"Enough of this mushy stuff" Bobby said suddenly. "Keep your head down kid and stay in touch. I got to go out and do something I think."

Dean laughed at Bobby's sudden mood change. He was feeling a little sentimental himself.

They said their good byes and Dean snapped the flip phone closed. His timing was perfect.

They had just pulled up in front of a well maintained ranch style home complete with a gravel covered roof and a manicured lawn. Elly was waving out the passenger window at a middle aged couple who were both rushing the RV.

It occurred to Dean that he had no idea of Elly's last name and other than Mom and Dad didn't have any idea what to call these people. No matter, it was pretty evident that Elly was home.


	9. Chapter 9 - Elly is Home

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Elly is Home**

 **From Chapter 8**

 _Dean laughed at Bobby's sudden mood change. He was feeling a little sentimental himself._

 _They said their good byes and Dean snapped the flip phone closed. His timing was perfect._

 _They had just pulled up in front of a well maintained ranch style home complete with a gravel covered roof and a manicured lawn. Elly was waving out the passenger window at a middle aged couple who were both rushing the RV._

 _It occurred to Dean that he had no idea of Elly's last name and other than Mom and Dad didn't have any idea what to call these people. No matter, it was pretty evident that Elly was home._

 **Chapter 9**

Dean turned off the engine and watched as Elly hauled ass out the passenger door. Ethan had his usual death grip on her back pants' pocket and Elly had Alan wrapped up in a soft blanket, nestled in her arms. Dean realized that no one was looking at him at the moment. Elly's parents were all over her and the boys. Elly's Dad was squatting down trying to convince Ethan that it was okay to let go of Elly's butt. Elly's mother was just about wrestling Alan out of Elly's hands.

Elly's face was spit almost in half her smile was so big. It sure looked like all was forgiven. Whatever had driven Elly out of the house was long forgotten it appeared. There was crying and cooing and squeaky little mother noises going on outside. Dean thought it would most likely be the only chance he would get to ditch the Disney Princess and turn into the Dean guy Elly had told her parents about.

He quietly slid his door open keeping his eyes on Elly's Dad. Dean figured if there was going to be a problem Elly's Dad would be where it would start. Out of the RV he looked around for a hiding spot. He had to keep the clothes. There were only so many times he was going to find stuff laying around ready to be taken and in his size. He had learned his lessons well. If you found a pair of boots that fit you held on to them through hell and high water.

As quietly as he could he ducked down and crab walked over the road. There was a somewhat discouraged stand of trees on the other side of a drainage ditch and Dean headed for the scanty cover.

Elly's parents' house was on a sparsely settled road but there were other houses within view. All he could do was keep his head down and try not to look like a thief. When he gained the cover of the trees he leaned against a trunk and concentrated on Dean Winchester's face and body; the man he saw in the mirror after every shower. There was a pinch at his waist and he rapidly loosened his belt. His 34- 25 -36 hour glass figure was going away and a more manly body demanded space.

There were a few more adjustments to be made; a shake here and a tug there and everything started to settled back into place. He breathed a sigh of relief. If at all possible in the future he hoped to stay out of female bodies. They were just too complex to maintain and felt weird.

He heard his name called and popped his head around the tree. Elly was standing in the middle of the road and that little rug rat Ethan was pointing right at him. The kid evidently had Dean radar. Elly's Dad was seated in the RV peering out the driver's side window.

Elly waved him over and he climbed the drainage ditch bank while obviously playing with his zipper.

Elly pursed her lips. "You didn't have to do that out here." She grumbled. "There's a perfectly good bathroom in the house." She was covering for him.

He shook his head. They made a great team. She knew what he was doing behind the trees and it wasn't taking a piss. One Disney Princess went into the woods and one Dean came back out. He glanced down at Ethan who was standing there looking up at him. Ethan's mouth was a perfect O with a finger stuck in it. Dean could almost see the little kid's wheels spinning round.

"It's OK, Ethan," Dean said. "It's fine. I'm back. Deanna had to go home."

It was a pretty weak line. Even the two year doubted him. He hoped he didn't have to pull it on Elly's father and wondered if Ethan could possible know enough words to spill the beans.

Ethan pulled the finger out of his mouth, pointed at Dean and said clearly "Titty."

Dean put his hand over Ethan's mouth and looked at Elly, shocked.

"He was breast fed." She said cheerfully. "I guess he remembers."

Elly's father appeared next to them. Dean was startled and dropped his hand from over Ethan's mouth.

The happy little traitor started to chortle "titty, titty, titty" and scampered off toward the house with Elly in pursuit.

"I assume you are Dean," Elly's father said extending his hand. "I'm Ed, Ed Stone. Thanks for bringing my girl home. I owe you."

Dean accepted the man's hand after wiping the dampness from Ethan's mouth on his jeans. "Not a problem Mr. Stone. Elly wanted to come. She's the one who decided to come back to Valentine. I'm just her driver."

Mrs. Stone joined them. "Well, come on in the house. Let's not stand out here in the road providing comedy theatre for the neighborhood." She shot a glance at the nearest house. "Let's at least get inside before Mrs. Carmichael gets her shoes on."

Elly laughed. "Are you two still feuding? I would have thought the two of you would have settled down by now. It's going on three years, Mom. Just get over it."

Mrs. Stone held her head high and started up the sidewalk to the house. "That old biddy lives to argue, Elly and you know it. You wouldn't be so kind if you heard some of the things she said about you after you left."

Inside the door Mrs. Stone went toward a rather uncomfortable looking formal living room full of spindly legged chairs and floral upholstery.

Elly and Mr. Stone just kept going on down the hallway.

"Come on Mom," Elly called out. "That living room is one of the reasons I left home. Besides, Ethan will make short work out of your pretty flowers and I have to change the baby. The living room will never be the same."

Mrs. Stone hesitated for a moment and then followed her family. In another few minutes they were all gathered around the kitchen table and Elly was passing Alan and the diaper bag over to her mother.

Ed Stone went to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of beers. Back at the table he handed one over to Dean and then sat down. Dean felt a shiver pass down his spine. He recognized that look. That was the "who are you and what do you want with my daughter" look that all fathers got along with their manual on how to be a Dad.

"So Dean," Ed started slowly. "Where are you from? How did you meet Elly?" The man leaned back in his chair preparing to be entertained.

Ms. Stone was juggling a wet Alan and Elly's woefully inadequate diaper bag. "Now Ed, that's no way to start. Don't terrify the poor boy." she smiled at Dean with all the warmth of a mother piranha. "What's your whole name, Dean?"

Dean felt like he was caught in the middle of a particularly deadly badminton game. He didn't know who to answer first and he froze. "Win….Windrider, Dean Windrider." he mumbled.

"Windrider," Ed Stone repeated. "That's an unusual name."

"It's Cree," Dean replied. "My Dad's family was Cree from above the Great Lakes. They moved on up into Canada a long time ago."

Dean took a healthy swig of his beer and put the bottle down. He stood up and pushed in his chair. "This has been great. I'm sure you guys are all going to be happy together. Keep an eye on Ethan. He's going to be a real pistol. I got to get back to my own life."

Elly turned to Dean. "Are you sure, Dean? You have to go right now? We just got here."

"Yeah, Dean," Ed Stone pitched in. "Stay for a while, we have plenty of room. Rest up. Where do you have to get to?"

"My car is up near Sioux Falls," Dean replied. "I have to go get it."

"What about the RV?" Elly asked putting her hand on his arm. "What are you going to do with that?"

"The RV is yours Elly, not mine." Dean looked back at Elly's father. "That's right, don't you think, Ed? I found Elly and the kids sitting beside the road with a broken down RV and nobody else in sight. Later she told me that Rick had taken off hitchhiking the previous night and didn't come back. That's abandonment, right? He left Elly and the kids and his damn RV beside the road. I figure the RV is hers."

Ed put his beer down and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe."

"I don't know about Nebraska but where I come from if you park your vehicle on someone's property and don't come back for it after ninety days the property owner can claim it. All you have to do, Ed, is notify the cops that this RV has been left here. Just get it on a police report so that you have record of the day it was left. That starts the clock running." Dean patted Elly's hand.

"This guy Rick is a jackass. I figure he owes Elly and the kids something and if a broken down RV is all he has she deserves it. Get it behind the house where it can't be seen from the road though. Rick had some pretty nasty friends and you don't want them coming around."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John Winchester kicked at some freshly turned dirt. He and Eldon Light had followed some whispers clear across the state to come to stand beside a shallow grave hidden in a stand of trees beside South Dakota Route 34 north of Chamberlain.

"What'd you think, John?" Eldon asked. "Do you think it might be your son?"

Winchester sat down on a nearly fallen tree trunk and stared at the ground. In addition to the freshly turned dirt there were obvious signs of burning. There was soot on the grass and some of the closer trees had burn marks on their trunks and scorched leaves.

"Could be, Eldon; it could be." John murmured. "It looks like a hunter burn. It's not a funeral pyre so I think it's just a monster disposal. Don't want those things coming back from the dead."

"So it's over now, John?" Eldon asked. "Looks like somebody got him. There's one more supernatural piece of crap down and it's time to move on."

"Shut your mouth for once, Eldon." John growled. "Try to remember that this was once my first born. Even if he became a monster it was Dean and I loved him for years. I don't know what the hell I'll tell his brother."

John drew his leg up and sat cross legged. He laid his shotgun down, close to hand. "It doesn't make a lot of sense through. Let me think this through."

There was silence beside the makeshift grave.

"First we hear about these two Hunters in a bar in Chamberlain talking about having to do a cleanup job out here. They are both drunk and not watching their mouths. Lucky break for us. They are well known Hunters or I wouldn't have paid any attention to bar gossip. That was two days ago. Then we go to Bobby's to stock up. The old bastard's so tight he squeaks but he's got the real goods. That phone call comes in about that female wolf in a diner west of Chamberlain. That was yesterday."

"That means she got Dean and she's still walking around. But why would a wolf get a couple of old time Hunters to bury her mistakes? That makes no sense at all. Why would those two guys do a favor for a wolf? There's more to the story for sure."

Eldon walked over to the shallow grave. "You want to dig this up? Want to see if there's anything left that could confirm that it's Dean?"

"I suppose." John sighed. "It would be good to be sure. The guys who did this burn weren't amateurs. They would know better than to leave any parts behind but let's take a look. It's not even a real grave. It should only take a few minutes."

In a while John was once again sitting on his tree trunk staring down into the open trench. "Now that's just down right weird" he said more to himself than to Eldon. "Northing; there's nothing there but pounded bone dust. Not a belt heckle, not a rivet from the jeans, no nails from boot heels; just nothing but dust. "

He looked up at Eldon. "Whatever was burned here was burned and buried naked. It could make sense if someone shot him while he was a wolf. He would transform back to a naked human when he was dead but in that case where the hell's the bullet?"

The two Hunters remained still and thought about it. John finally stood up. "I think we need to find the Hunters that burned this body. They only way we can be sure it was Dean was to asked them what they burned."

"What about the female wolf?" Eldon objected. "Shouldn't she be next in line?"

"Maybe so," John replied. "I'm going to call Bobby Singer first and find out who called him about the she-wolf. Maybe it could be a lead to Ernie and Ron Bloucher."

"That's their name, Bloucher?" Eldon said as he kicked some loose dirt back into the trench.

"Yeah," John answered. "If we can find them I want to know why they did a favor for a werewolf and also what the body they burned looked like."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Back at the Stones' house in Valentine Dean had escaped from the parental inquisition and was back outside, nursing his coffee cup on the front porch and looking out over the gently rolling hills to the mountains in the distance.

He heard the door open and Elly was standing beside him. "Sorry about that, Dean." She said. "I had forgotten what they were like. At least now that I'm someone's Mom I can understand them better. It's going to be all right. Come back inside and have dinner. Mon's going all out. She's making her beef stew with burgundy wine. It'll fill you up and get you drunk at the same time."

Dean laughed with Elly. He turned to her. "Look Elly, I'm glad you're home but you know I can't stay, right?"

I'm not expecting you to, Dean." She replied and then leaned on the railing and watched the slowly darkening sky. "Night's coming on. Stay for dinner and rest for the night. Morning's a better time to start long journeys and I have a feeling you are planning to cover a lot of miles." She turned to look at him again. "Are you sure you don't want the RV?"

Dean grinned back at her. "That piece of crap is only going to slow me down, Elly" he answered her. "There are a couple of things you could do for me though."

"Whatever you need."

"Write down the mailing address for this place. Someone is going to send me an envelope and I want it to go someplace safe. Also, I'll sleep in your guest room but in the morning get in there before anyone else and take a good size box. You're going to find my clothes and my boots. Pack them up and I'll call you sometime soon; a week or a month or whenever, and I'll tell you where to send the box and the envelope. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure Dean, of course; I did say anything you want. That's a small enough favor and I'll look forward to hearing from you again."

Dean and Elly went back inside away from the chill of the night and had dinner with Elly's entire family; Grandpa, Grandma, Elly and her boys. The place was warm and bright and above all, safe. Little Ethan was going to be saved from the monsters.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Just at dawn Dean rose from his nice soft bed and used the last of the human comforts he thought he might see for a while. Taking one last look around the room he opened the window and left quietly. By the time his feet were on the ground he was transformed. Anyone looking would have seen either a very large coyote or a small wolf slinking through the high grass behind the house, heading west toward the mountains off in the blue distance.


	10. Chapter 10 - Into The Wild

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Into the Wild**

 **From Chapter 9**

 _Just at dawn Dean rose from his nice soft bed and used the last of the human comforts he thought he might see for a while. Taking one last look around the room he opened the window and left quietly. By the time his feet were on the ground he was transformed. Anyone looking would have seen either a very large coyote or a small wolf slinking through the high grass behind the house, heading west toward the mountains off in the blue distance._

 **Chapter 10**

He circled the house and headed south, staying well outside of Valentine. The tall prairie grasses concealed his passage. He parted the grasses as he passed but the light prairie winds ruffled the fields and the disruption of his passage blended in. Inside the world of grass he saw all kinds of living things; mice, other rodents, a snake in the grass, the hustle and bustle of busy insects. This was a world men rarely saw. He ignored them and they ignored him. The passing of a lone grey wolf meant nothing to them.

He was looking for breakfast along the way but nothing he saw would even make a mouthful. The larger prey, rabbits and ground squirrels, made it their business to stay clear of his path. He wandered on at a steady lope. His belly was empty but not uncomfortably so. He could go for a long time yet before hunger would slow him down. His eyes were fixed on the horizon as he moved through a world hidden from men.

The sun rose higher and warmed his shoulders. The clear light broke over the fields gilding the grass stalks. His muscles were lose with the warmth of the morning and he felt like he could float along to that rolling line of hills in the distance.

At noon the sun was directly overhead and he was beginning to think about water. The horizon had come no closer after all the hours he had spent in motion and he was beginning to get distracted by the scents of prey hidden in the grass. He wondered how far he had come. The world was so much larger from the perspective of four feet than it than it appeared from inside a car.

The scent of water made his nose twitch. The western edges of Nebraska encouraged small streams and ponds. Of course the water sources would be centers of life. Not only animals but very possibly men would gather there.

He came upon a small meandering stream, most likely an eventual tributary to the larger river up by Valentine. He followed it upstream, the smell of prey strong, making his nose sting. Over the small hump of a bank he caught a flicker of motion and went to his belly. Very carefully he crawled up the face of the little hill and peeked over. Below was a wide pool formed by a low natural depression and edged by cottonwood trees. The stream rolled in from the west and trickled back out on the east, creating a nice wide pool under the shade of the tree branches. Gathered around the edges were a number of thirsty animals but what got his immediate attention was the horses.

He had forgotten the wild horses even though he knew they were all over the western end of South Dakota. There were sanctuaries near Hot Springs for horses considered excess, waiting for adoption. Since western wild horses had been placed under the protection of the Bureau of Land Management back in the seventies, the herds had increased beyond expectation. That they were here in Nebraska was no surprise. He had simply forgotten about them. Gathered at the edge of the water were a number of mares and their foals. They were at ease, drinking from the pool as if this was part of their daily pattern.

He thought about it. Here he was traveling as a wolf and had spent the entire morning covering perhaps ten or so miles. At this rate it would take him until next summer to get to Palo Alto and Sam. It was even possible it could take longer than that. He had not thought he would walk all the way but as a horse he could certainly make it to Denver in a much shorter period of time. He really wanted to cross the Rockies through the pass above Denver before snow blocked the pass and a hoarse could do fifty miles a day, easy.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

It was a dark, slightly gritty and very old Hunter's bar out the back end of frigging nowhere. John Winchester and Eldon Light had stumbled over it on their way back from investigating the burn site on Route 34 and it had called to them right away. They were headed back to Chamberlain to get on the trail of the Wolf girl again but as they scooted over the crest of a low hill in John's new SUV the neon of the beer signs, obscured by dirty windows, had waved a welcome home, boys, type of greeting to them from far down the road.

John pulled into the gravel covered parking lot, spraying the small stones behind him as the heavy vehicle sank into the surface. It was a damn good thing it wasn't raining. The soft mud would have swallowed them to the wheel wells.

Once inside the two Hunters settled at the bar. John swung the swivel stool around and did a quick inventory of the bar's patrons. He recognized a face or two but not anyone that he knew well enough to drop into causal conversation with comfortably. He turned back and waved the bartender over. Glancing over at Eldon John whispered "You know anybody here?" and Eldon shook his head no. They waited for the lanky, curly hair bartender to arrive.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked. In response John leaned forward and casually slid a twenty onto the bar's slick surface. Making sure the bartender was focused on the cash John said quietly "We're looking for a couple of guys, brothers, Ernie and Ron Bloucher. Do you know them?"

"Sorry, man," the bartender said licking his lips. "You might try old Giles Pender over in the corner." The guy pointed out an old man hidden in the shadows at a table behind the pool table. "Old Giles knows just about everybody. Give him a shot."

John released the twenty and turned away.

Giles Pender did know the Bloucher Brothers. "They was here just a couple of days ago," the old man muttered. "Burned something up near Witches' Hollow I think."

"Witches Hollow," John rumbled "is that the wide place in the road off 34 a couple of miles north of here?"

"You got it," the old man confirmed. ""Ain't nobody but locals call it Witches' Hollow. Strange things happen up around there. Have been happening for years. Didn't surprise me none that Ernie and Ron picked up a salt n' burn up that way."

"You a Hunter?" John asked, surprised.

"I was," Pender replied and popped the top off the beer that John had brought over. "Not any more. I got too damned slow after I hit fifty. I was going' get myself killed so I got out with all my fingers and toes still attached, almost."

He waved his left hand in John's face. His ring and little fingers were gone. "Black dog hunt, years ago. The damn thing almost took my whole hand. That was it. I hung up my guns and decided to just stay drunk. I answer questions for you young Hunters every now and then. "He swirled his beer. "I usually get more than just a beer out of it through."

John snorted and turned to Eldon. "Your turn, Light. 'Bout time you paid for something."

Eldon rolled his eyes. "Listen, Johnny boy, I'm along for the ride but it ain't my dog in this hunt. You're the one with the agenda."

Giles Pender sat and cackled. For some reason the exchange between Light and Winchester struck him as funny.

"You two been together long?" the old man coughed. "You bicker like a married couple. Come on, somebody needs to unpucker. You want to know where the Bloucher Brothers are or not? I got all the time in the world and I was planning on spending it drunk." The old man took another swallow of John's donated beer.

Elson grudgingly pulled out a wrinkled ten spot and John snatched it out of his hand, giving it to Pender. The old man rolled it up and stuck it in his shirt pocket.

"You guys go try at Ernie's bar, east of Chamberlain on Route Ninety. Ron and Ernie got an old trailer they live in down in the stream bed behind the bar. You should find them there unless they got another job." Dismissing them out of hand Pender went back to nursing his beer and watching the pool game in progress. John and Eldon went back out to the Yukon, wallets a little lighter but heads full of plans.

Before they made it into the SUV another voice stopped them. Turning around they saw they had been followed out of the bar by a tall, willowy guy with his right arm in a heavy cast.

"You the ones been poking around up at the rest stop off thirty four on the way to Pierre?"

"What's it to you, buddy?" John growled. He really hated strangers asking questions, sticking their noses into his business.

The guy came closer. "The name's Marty and I lost something around there. A guy named Rick disappeared with a lot of my money. When I went looking for the creep I found his RV and his bitch but not Rick or my money. Rick's woman Elly hooked up with some other guy. I think she has my money and if you can find her and help me get it back I'll split it with you."

"Not interested," John turned his back to walk away but Eldon grabbed John's arm. "Wait a minute, Winchester." Eldon said and turned back to Marty.

"You say there was a stranger with Rick's woman?"

Marty shrugged. "Yeah, he's the one that put a bullet in my arm. Busted it up good. I wouldn't mind finding him again either, maybe in an alley on a dark night."

Eldon hissed at John. "Show him the picture, John. Don't be an idiot."

John Winchester pulled out his wallet and removed a picture of Dean. His son was sitting on the hood of the Impala, laughing in the sunlight.

"Is this the guy you saw?" Eldon extended the picture to Marty.

"Might be," Marty replied. "They're just about the same size. The guy that shot me though was blonder and had a kind of more boney face. I can't say that they might not be the same guy. I 'm not sure."

Eldon considered the lead. "You know anything about this woman? Her name or where she's from?"

Marty shrugged. "I never spent any time on her but one of my guys talked to her for a while. Her name was Elly and they went to school together, strangely enough. He told me she was from Valentine, Nebraska."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._


	11. Chapter 11 - Follow the Wind

-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Follow the Wind**

Oh, the wayward wind is a restless wind  
A restless wind that yearns to wander  
And he was born the next of kin  
The next of kin to the wayward wind

In a lonely shack by a railroad track  
He spent his younger days  
And I guess the sound of the outward bound  
Made me a slave to his wandering ways

Oh, I met him there in a border town  
He vowed we'd never part  
Though he tried his best to settle down  
Now I'm alone with a broken heart

 **From Chapter 10**

 _Is this the guy you saw?" Eldon extended the picture to Marty._

" _Might be," Marty replied. "They're just about the same size. The guy that shot me though was blonder and had a kind of more boney face. I can't say that they might not be the same guy. I 'm not sure."_

 _Eldon considered the lead. "You know anything about this woman? Her name or where she's from?"_

 _Marty shrugged. "I never spent any time on her but one of my guys talked to her for a while. Her name was Elly and they went to school together, strangely enough. He told me she was from Valentine, Nebraska."_

 **Chapter 11**

Dean lay on the bank on his belly watching the horses drink. One of the mares threw her head up and extended her neck taking in great gulps of air. He slithered further down the bank hoping she was not scenting him. Wolves were horse predators, running after the herd's weakest members, usually a foal or a sick older animal, until it collapsed from exhaustion. The wolves generally worked in packs, running the prey to death. If the mare caught the scent of a wolf the entire group would disappear. He waited but there was no noise of them breaking away. He could still hear the sound of the lead mare sampling the air.

His attention was distracted by a new sound. Somewhere behind him were two human voices. They were low and muted but carried clearly on the air. He flicked his large, sensitive ears toward the voices. One male, one female; he could make that out but exactly what they were saying was beyond him.

The voices came closer and he could tell the humans were trying very hard to be quiet. Even so the mares apparently heard them. The small group was shifting nervously, shuffling their hooves in the duff under the trees. Dean moved lightly in the direction of the voices, being very careful of where he placed his paws. Circling to the east he cut to that side of the humans. He wanted to come up behind them, not meet them head on.

His decision proved to be a good one. Before he laid eyes on the speakers he found their truck. It was a nice, solid, green-painted pickup towing a horse trailer. He could hear the sounds of a horse inside pawing at the floor. The letters BLM were stenciled both on the truck's door and on the trailer. Bureau of Land Management; these two were most likely some kind of Ranger. He wasn't all that well versed in BLM policy but he knew the agency was ultimately responsible for the wild horse herds of the west.

He picked up the human scent and followed the pair. When he found them they were laying on the bank much the same as he had but about fifty feet further downstream. They were watching the mares and their foals though binoculars.

He stood in the safety of the trees, his grey fur blending nicely into the shadows. The two Rangers slithered back down the bank and headed, he assumed, back to their truck. He followed as lightly as he could, trying to hear what they were discussing. Once back at their vehicle the man entered the horse trailer through the narrow front door while the woman lowered the trailer ramp.

They were unloading a grey mare. The woman stayed out of the way of the occasionally flashed hoof while the man backed the animal out. Once on the ground they simply let the mare go. Dean was pretty confused. Why would they be adding another mare in to the covey? The two BLM Rangers watched the grey mare go and they headed on downstream again. Dean decided to follow the mare.

Just as he turned away he heard something that solved the mystery for him. He distinctly heard the words "Judas Horse".

He had heard this phrase used before. A Judas horse was a trained animal that could convince wild mares to follow it into a corral. They were never stallions. Stallions were idiots. A well trained Judas horse led the wild mares by example. Horses are herd and prey animals, just like gazelles or bison. They were always looking for a leader. A Judas horse simply because it had a direction looked like a leader to the rest of the herd. The Rangers were trying to round up and corral this group of mares and foals. Dean knew there were sanctuary ranches in South Dakota especially in the vicinity of Hot Springs. There the wild horses supposedly were to be held to wait for adoption.

Everyone knew that the ranches could only hold so many horses and in the past many of the captured animals were sold off for meat. Today any hint of horses being sold for slaughter was a sure fire way to get the BLM in the papers and splashed all over the internet. Recently the plan to cull eight or nine hundred of the Yellowstone bison had turned into a major publicity headache for the agency.

But they were running out of room for the horses. There was pressure from special interests to open up the sale of wild horse for slaughter again. Everyone in the west suspected that horses were simply disappearing from the holding corrals,

Dean decided that this little group was going to stay free. He ignored the Rangers and followed the Judas mare. He studied how the animal moved, following close enough to begin to build a picture in his mind of how he could look as a horse. He decided immediately he was going to be a stallion. The mares would follow a stallion without question. If he could get the little group moving in a southwest direction he might be able to get a lot closer to Denver a lot faster than he could as a wolf. He needed the cover. A stallion moving through the Western landscape alone would be an anomaly, sure to attract unwanted attention.

The Judas mare tacked to and fro, heading in the general direction of the little herd. She most likely could hear them and was approaching carefully, looking not to get stomped. If the small group had a lead mare that was at all aggressive it was possible that the Judas mare would be driven away.

He studied her and began to mold his new body based on his observations. First of all his legs got longer and his point of view rose up from behind the brush to above it. His neck extended and his muzzle grew. He felt his hind quarters expand and his body's center of balance moved forward over his withers. This was a body built for speed.

He gathered the additional weight and power he needed from the surrounding landscape. His natural weight was not sufficient to support a full grown stallion. There were rules in the supernatural world also. Rules he needed to obey. Those back legs were the engine of this new body. The power contained there is what would drive him forward. He needed to pull in strength from the earth or he would be only a wisp, practically a ghost, on the face of the world. Any other creature could walk right through a stallion with the inertial weight of a man, a puny 200 pounds at most. He needed the equivalent of 1,500 pounds at least.

He felt his new tail tickle the backs of his long legs. A mane cascaded over his neck and a forelock tumbled into his eyes.

Although he felt every change as it happened if there had been an outside observer the change would have appeared to flow. From a grey wolf, the horse emerged; larger, stronger but still grey as summer fog. His now longer legs ate up the ground and he closed in on the Judas mare. He cocked his tail like a flag, indicating possibly some Arab blood there. The large, floppy mane waved in the mild wind of his passage. He had the small, neat head of the Arab line but his legs spoke of quarter horse blood mixed in. They were sturdy legs; thicker than a thoroughbred and less prone perhaps to catastrophic damage.

As an American wild horse stallion he was close to ideal.

When he reached the small breakaway herd there was no question of who was in charge. The Judas mare even fell into line, ignoring her training. He could hear the whistle of her Rangers, far away, crying out in the woods but she ignored the summons being much more interested in this strong, young stallion. The Rangers weren't going to be getting her back anytime soon.

He circled the herd, establishing dominance. The lead mare was not enthusiastic but did lower her head in submission and allowed him to scent her. He touched each member of the herd and when he turned away to the southwest they followed him.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Mandy Walker dropped her binoculars. "Where the hell did he come from?" She turned to her partner, Jacob Bonn.

"I don't know Mandy. He's not freeze branded so he's not from any captive herd. I don't see how it's possible." Jacob shrugged. "There has to be a native herd somewhere here that hasn't been spotted, maybe. I'm with you though; I just don't know how that could happen. Look at him. He's young, healthy and strong. This is nobody's cull from a captive herd. He's pure wild."

Mandy dumped her equipment into the truck's extended cab. "Well, we might as well call in and tell Jake Pally we aren't going to be corralling any kind of a herd. He's not going to believe us when we tell him some rouge stallion showed up out of nowhere and made off with not only the wild mares but also his Cindy Pie. I think Jake actually loves that horse."

Jacob shrugged again. He was easier going than either Mandy or Jake. "What Jake wants to believe or not believe isn't my problem. The mares are gone. He can chase them down if he wants. We've done our part and I'd like to get back and take a shower then have dinner. All this crawling around in the woods chaps my ass.

Mandy laughed. Jacob could always make her see another side. Jacob thought she took this whole Ranger thing much too seriously. "I don't know why you ever became a Ranger, Jacob." She shook her head. "You don't even seem to like the outdoors."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean led his little group onward towards the Colorado border. The land was steadily rising but they still kept up a good, even pace. So for he had not lost a single straggler, not even the foals and he realized that fifty miles a day was actually a grazing speed for horses. If pushed they would make many more miles a day.

He knew that Denver was at least three hundred and fifty miles away. He had taken this ride with his father and Sam many times and always remembered the rush of rising up into the mountains higher and higher until it looked like the entire Earth was spread out below them. Now he wondered if he should be depending on childhood memories to lead him on. A stop was definitely in his future. He would need to either ask questions about a route or find himself some maps. That decision was days away however. It would most likely take about a week to reach Denver. Right now he had a bunch of horses to lead.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains and he needed to find somewhere for his little band of dependents to spend the night. He ideally wanted something at his back. The deeper into the mountains they got the higher the likelihood of running into mountain lions, the greatest threat to his herd, became. Grizzlies and grey wolves were also problems but not as much as the lions. He thought about just holding back and letting the lead mare pick the spot. She most definitely knew more than he did.

As the shadows lengthened and the air grew chill his lead mare did eventually pick a spot to stop. It was a shallow valley with exits at both ends. About the only protection wild horses had was their speed. A stallion could be intimidating but he was only one animal. It could be his job to hold off a predator as long as he could. It was the job of the rest of the herd to run like hell.

The herd gathered together and began late night foraging. He had kept them on the move all day. They were simply following their new stallion. He was actively running away. He had kept alert for the sound of trucks or helicopters or even the pounding hooves of a pissed off stallion all day. He was now hoping for food, rest, and perhaps even a little sleep.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John Winchester pulled up outside a bar on the main street of Valentine, Nebraska. Eldon Light sat in the passenger seat with his elbow out the open window. John glanced up into the rear view mirror and confirmed that the ghost that had been following them down Route 83 out of South Dakota was still with them. Marty wasn't giving up the only lead he had to his money.

Eldon looked back over his shoulder. "That shit just doesn't give up, does ne? I wonder just how much money we're talking about."

John flinched. "Who the hell knows?" Winchester pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. "Look, Light, why don't you go on into the bar? Ask around about this Elly woman. This place isn't much bigger than spit in a thunderstorm. I bet everyone knows everybody else's business here. See what you can find out."

"Why not you, Winchester? And what do you expect me to do about the shit on my shoe?' Eldon jerked his head back at Marty who was just getting off his motorcycle.

John looked back into the mirror. "Hell if I know. Look, I got to make a call. I'll be in as soon as I'm done. Try to ignore our druggie, if you can."

Eldon tossed open the door and slid out. Shaking out his rumpled over shirt he headed to the bar.

John dialed and waited. In a couple of buzzes a woman answered the phone. Her voice was young and laughing. "Hello, who is it? This is Jessie."

John was surprised. "I was trying to reach Sam Winchester," he answered her. "This is his father. Is he there?"

"Oh, Mr. Winchester, hold on a minute, will you?"

John heard her call out "Sam, there's a man on the phone who says he's your father, John Winchester."

From further away John heard Sam's voice for the first time in years. Whatever Sam said was suddenly muffled.

Just as quick as that the girl was back. "You said John Winchester, right?"

"Yes, I'm Sam's father, John Winchester. Tell him to come to the phone. It's important."

Another moment and Sam's voice floated over the line. "Dad, is that you?"

The unspoken questions screamed in John's head. Who was the girl; was Sam alright; what had happened in the intervening years? But in typical Winchester fashion John didn't ask a single question, nothing that would be normal for an estranged father to ask.

Instead John barked out "Sam, have you heard from your brother?"

"Dean?" Sam seemed confused. "No, he hasn't called me. Isn't he with you?"

"No," John growled out. "I haven't seen him for a while. We got separated on a job and I'm looking for him. I think it is very possible that he's headed in your direction."

"I'll have him call if he gets here." Sam was retreating into an icy formality.

"No Sam, you listen to me." John went on. "If he calls or shows up there first you make damned sure that it's really Dean. You got all the usual testing stuff? Test him with everything you got and then you call me. Call me and let me know that he's there. You understand, son?"

"What's going on, Dad?" Sam answered. "Why do you think there's something wrong with Dean? What did you do?"

The words froze in John's mouth. Of course Sam would think it was his fault. Why not? Sam thought everything that had ever gone wrong in their family was John's fault. Why not his brother turning into a monster?

"Look Sam, I'm telling you….I'm giving you an order. If your brother shows up hold him there and call me. I'll be there as fast as I can if I can't cut him off on his way there. I'm telling you that it's possible that what could show up on your doorstep might not really be your brother. Listen to me. He's could be dangerous."

"You know what, Dad," Sam responded. "If Dean shows up here I'll find out what's going on one way or another. I'll make up my own mind about who is telling me the truth. And another thing, you don't give me orders anymore. The last order you gave me was to never dome back. That's the order I'm listening to."

John was not aware that you could actually hear a cell phone being slammed shut.


	12. Chapter 12 Starting West

-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 12**

 **Starting West**

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway." **by Maya Angelou**

 **From Chapter 11**

 _As the shadows lengthened and the air grew chill his lead mare did eventually pick a spot to stop. It was a shallow valley with exits at both ends. About the only protection wild horses had was their speed. A stallion could be intimidating but he was only one animal. It could be his job to hold off a predator as long as he could. It was the job of the rest of the herd to run like hell._

 _The herd gathered together and began late night foraging. He had kept them on the move all day. They were simply following their new stallion. He was actively running away. He had kept alert for the sound of trucks or helicopters or even the pounding hooves of a pissed off stallion all day. He was now hoping for food, rest, and perhaps even a little sleep._

 **Chapter 12**

Dean did finally manage to snatch a few hours of sleep. He had no idea that horses could sleep standing up. Strange, the things you learn when stepping into another species' skin. Horses' anatomy enabled them to use their speed to escape predators. They have an exceptional sense of balance and a very strong fight or flight response and related to this need to flee from predators in the wild is an unusual trait: horses are able to sleep both standing up and lying down.

Dean woke with the dawn. Looking over his little herd he saw both kinds: some horses stood together in groups, sleeping standing up. Scattered over the valley were other mares lying down. The mares lying down seemed to have no foals at their side. The standing mares were on guard and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger, pinning the gawky colts and fillies close.

He shook his head and felt his mane settle over his neck, providing a small amount of warmth. His nostrils flared, sucking in great gulps of the cold morning air. Along with the air came the enticing scents of fresh green grass. Never in Dean Winchester's life had he ever understood the attraction of vegetation or "rabbit food" as he called it. He had spent a childhood making fun of Sam's love of salads. Now in the horse body he craved the grass. Dropping his head he searched for breakfast, lipping the youngest and most tender shoots.

As the sun gradually climbed into the sky he orientated himself. The sun was in the East and if he turned his back to it his shadow pointed the way West. His little valley was obscuring the closest hills but in the distance the blue Rockies pierced the sky. He knew the way to go to get to Sam. Denver beckoned.

He walked through the grazing herd; a nip there, a puff of his warm breath onto the next mare's neck. They began to follow. After all, he looked like he knew where he was going. The first thing to look for however, was water. His little group of dependents needed water and so did he.

He kept them moving with the sun warming their backs and in good time they found a small rill, trickling out of the hills. The water was clear and clean, freshly squeezed from the soul of the hills; rainwater filtered and purified with its passage through the earth.

They danced on for days, the earth gradually rising beneath their hooves. The Sky Mountains grew closer and more defined and Dean kept pushing his group to the West. He lost a few of the herd. The Judas mare had left them on the second day. He hadn't even noticed her departure. She simply was not with them the second morning. He assumed she had returned to her handlers. He wondered if sugar cubes and carrots had anything to do with that decision.

A couple of mares and some younger foals were gone another day and he blamed himself. He was most likely pushing too hard for the youngest ones. The mothers made their own decisions and at this age the foals would take precedence even over a young and virile stallion. He still had enough cover left to keep him safe when they finally passed over into Colorado.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Eldon Light came back out the bar's front door and headed straight for Winchester's truck. Sticking his head in the passenger's rolled down window he grinned at the dark Hunter. "Got her." Light grinned even more widely and opened the door.

Climbing into the truck he pulled a crumpled bar check out of his shirt pocket and passed the grimy piece of paper over to John. On the back was written the name of a street and a man's name: Ed Stone.

Light began to paw through the under seat drawer. "That book of maps is in here somewhere, isn't it?" he grunted as he leaned forward. "Let's find out exactly where this house is."

John looked back into the rear view mirror, centering it on the motorcycle rider parked behind them. "Yeah, the map book in either in there or behind the seat. What do you think we need to do with our friend back there?"

Light turned in the seat staring back at Marty. Marty stared right ack. No one was backing down. Marty wanted his money, John wanted his son and Eldon Light liked having a hunting partner he could draft on. Everyone had skin in the game.

"Screw him, John," Light responded. "After we get what we need who the hell cares what he does to the girl? Not our problem, near as I can see.

John hemmed a bit. "It could be our problem if the creature wearing Dean has infected that girl. We could have two monsters instead of just one. Hell, by this time the whole damn family could be turned. We'll have to face that if we come to it. What will we do with Marty then? Kill him? Strings of bodies or disappearances are never good. We could get the local LEO's on our asses."

Eldon scratched the back of his head while continuing to stare at Marty. "If they are all turned we'll have to put them down for sure. If Marty's there, he'll have to go too."

John turned to stare at this, his new hunting partner. It sure as hell was a lot different than hunting with family. "This is beginning to stop being a hunt. It's turning into a blood bath."

Light snorted. "Nut up, Winchester. Funny how the legend is so much more than the man. Now that I know you I'm beginning to wonder how you got your reputation. You seem to have some pretty delicate feelings about things."

"Shut up, Eldon." John snarled back. "Find the damn map book. Let's get out of here. That creature wearing my son is getting further away with every minute we waste screwing around."

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The little caravan of John's Denali and Marty's motorcycle pulled up in front of Elly's parent's house on the outskirts of Valentine. The roar of the motors had alerted the inhabitants and Elly was out in the front yard trying to corral a giggling Ethan. The little boy was running around the nice green grass, free to make noise and play as he had never been allowed when they lived with Randy.

Elly was well aware of trouble coming. She didn't recognize Winchester or Light but they were with Marty and that was enough to put them in the bad news category. She chased her son frantically but, as usual with small children and animals, the more she chased the more fun the game became.

Marty slapped his motorcycle upright on the stand and joined the chase. His long legs ate up the yard and it took no time at all before he had Elly's arm in his grip. His long fingers dug ruthlessly into her flesh and she tried to pull loose.

"Where's that jackass, Randy?" Marty growled. He shook her like a rag doll. "Where's my money, bitch?"

Of course, that was the moment that little Ethan decided that Mommy needed help and he attacked the man's legs, kicking and biting. Marty reached down and got a fist full of Ethan's hair. The little boy began screaming and Elly called out for her father at the top of her lungs.

Winchester and Light exited the truck and went to intercept Marty. They didn't care about what happened to Elly but they wanted her to talk. It looked like Marty was going to kill her and the kid outright; he was in such a complete rage. Before the two hunters reached the drug dealer however, there was the blast of a gun. Ed Stone had kicked open his front door and stood on the porch with a shotgun in his hands.

Marty had turned towards the noise of the door crashing open as Elly pulled at his hand one more time. She ripped her arm out of his hand; leaving the sleeve of her shirt behind, and fell on Ethan to protect the little boy just as her father, with the luck of the untrained, shot Marty in the chest.

Marty's hands flew up, reaching for a sky that his eyes most likely never saw and the man fell like a tree, blood scattering everywhere.

Ed stone turned the gun on the two Hunters. Off in the distance police car sirens were going off and John Winchester spotted an older woman through the living room window. She was on the phone.

"I don't know who you people are but the cops are on the way.' Mr. Stone stuttered out. He was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. John was pretty sure this was the first time the older guy had shot a man. It might even be the first time Mr. Stone had shot anything. That shot gun was vibrating in the man's hands, threatening to go off at any time, either accidently or on purpose.

Winchester stepped in front of Eldon Light. "Eldon," John whispered. "Don't do anything stupid. You get me killed and I'll haunt your ass." John knew that Eldon's answer to almost everything was violence.

"Sir," John started in his most wheedling tone. "I'm sorry for the violence. That man followed us here from a bar up in Valentine. We don't even know his name. I'm John Winchester and I'm looking for my son, Dean. That's all I wanted. I just wanted to ask if you had seen my boy. I understood he drove here in that RV you've got sticking out from behind the garage."

Ed Stone lowered the shot gun and John breathed just a little easier. He heard Eldon's gun cock and he spun around to stop the weasel. "Put it down, Eldon." John barked, all the while waiting for a bullet in his back.

Eldon glared into John's eyes. "I'm not going to stand here and let that man shoot me. Get out of the way John or I'll shoot through you."

John Winchester's famous temper took hold and he back handed Eldon quick as a striking snake. Eldon was so surprised he ended up on his ass in the grass all the while trying to pull his gun out of his inside jacket pocket. John took it away from him. For good measure Winchester kicked Eldon in the chest, hoping to collapse a lung.

It didn't happen but it was a good try. Winchester turned back to Elly's father. " Sorry again."

Ed Stone grimaced. "If you're Dean's father I would have expected you to travel with a better class of people. Your son is a real good guy. He brought my daughter and grandsons home to me." Ed put out an arm for Elly who had little Ethan in her arms. Gathering his family safe Ed Stone turned back to John.

"What do you want to know? Sorry, but I'm not going to invite you into my house. We've had enough trouble as it is. The cops should be here any moment. We have a dead body for them and if you want to leave the other guy too I'm sure they'll take him off your hands."

"Don't you dare leave me here, Winchester," Eldon Light gasped out just barely in control of his breathing.

John turned to look down on Eldon. "No, I'll take him with me, I guess. You're going to have enough trouble with Marty there." John turned his head back at Ed. "Can you at least tell me which way Dean went? I'm really concerned about him. I've got another son, a younger one, that's sick and Dean needs to know that. If Sam passes without Dean having any chance to see him the boy will never get over it."

"You know, Mr. Winchester," Elly spoke up. "Dean doesn't like you very much anymore. I know he loves his Sammy so I'll tell you that he's gone west. He stayed here one night and disappeared in the morning but he mentioned Denver to me a couple of times when we were driving home."

John leaned over and grabbed Eldon under the man's arm, jerking the damaged hunter upright, ignoring Light's grunts of pain. "Thank you very much, Elly." John said in a kindly voice. "I much appreciate it and I think we'll be getting out of here before those sirens get any closer." John Winchester gave Elly his broadest, lying smile.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean was very aware that he and his little group were climbing a plateau. The air was getting thinner and more chilled and there seemed to be more roads, fields and people scattered around the landscape.

Soon enough a group of feral horses was going to be attracting attention the closer they got to Denver.

The next time that they passed near a home he cut over to see what he could find. It took three or four exploratory detours but he finally found a place with open doors, windows and the hint of clothing within. It looked like some guy's bedroom.

Dean chased his mares away when they tried to follow him and he stood outside the man's window watching. Slowly he transformed back into a naked Dean Winchester. This clothes thing was getting very annoying but it was time. He needed to do things like find maps and ask questions about the best routes through the mountains. No one was going to be able to handle a talking horse even if that horse had the equipment to speak clearly. It was human time again.

He shed his earth weight and morphed from fifteen hundred pounds down to a wispy two hundred. The grey stallion became feather light and was tossed around easily by the wind. Once transformed, he stood there shivering in the wind; damn, he missed his hide.

He slid the window up with his finger tips and inched in over the sill. He almost fell onto the floor and froze waiting to hear hurrying footsteps outside the door but nothing happened. He thought about it and realized he had not seen a car anywhere. Maybe he had got lucky for a change. Nobody was home.

He found worn jeans that were just a bit too large and a nice flannel shirt already broken in, all soft and warm. The socks were a little sketchy but he used two pair as all he could find for shoes were some old sneakers that definitely had seen better days and were sizes too large. They slipped off the backs of his heels with every step.

Taking another quick look around he found a denim jacket and that was it. There wasn't even anything here worth stealing except the clothes. He slipped back out the window and made his way over the rise to the mares that were waiting patiently under some trees. Their eyes flared at the sight of a human but he still smelled like the stallion. That got him back into the herd without getting his head kicked in.

He approached the lead mare and let her sniff his hands. Slowly and carefully he swung up onto her back, laid down and held on. She quivered under his weight and did a few dance steps but he made no sudden moves and simply laid there breathing softly on her neck. He didn't try to guide her or interrupt her grazing. They even felt comfortable. Her back was warm against the evening air. He simply stayed still and let her get used to him. He might have extruded a few tendrils of tissue into her hide, just to keep him in place. It seemed to comfort her and she remained calm.

Later in the night he saw lights on the other side of the rise and he assumed someone had come home. There was no immediately uproar and his small herd gradually drifted further away from the house. They didn't appreciate the sounds of men's upraised voices either. It was better just to melt into the trees and stay away from trouble.


	13. Chapter 13 Climbing the Rockies

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 13**

 **Climbing the Rockies**

 **From Chapter 12**

 _He approached the lead mare and let her sniff his hands. Slowly and carefully he swung up onto her back, laid down and held on. She quivered under his weight and did a few dance steps but he made no sudden moves and simply laid there breathing softly on her neck. He didn't try to guide her or interrupt her grazing. They even felt comfortable. Her back was warm against the evening air. He simply stayed still and let her get used to him. He might have extruded a few tendrils of tissue into her hide, just to keep him in place. It seemed to comfort her and she remained calm._

 _Later in the night he saw lights on the other side of the rise and he assumed someone had come home. There was no immediately uproar and his small herd gradually drifted further away from the house. They didn't appreciate the sounds of men's upraised voices either. It was better just to melt into the trees and stay away from trouble._

 **Chapter 13**

Dean slept safely anchored to his lead mare's back. They kept each other company through the long dark watches of the night under the wheeling stars. He had watched Orion's Belt track the ecliptic and the slow movement of the sky sent him peacefully to sleep. When the sun rose in the morning and caressed his back he came near to panicking until he remembered why exactly he seemed to be wearing clothes.

As he shook the dreams out of his head and the mare tossed her dreams away with a toss of her head and a shake of her mane, the herd came awake around them. They were still in the small wood fairly close to the raided farm house and Dean felt the urge to get his herd further away from people.

The smell of water on the wind lead them naturally away and they found a small meadow just outside the tree line, lying next to another of those foothill rills so common on the rising plateau.

Dean was now a man and the grass held no appeal. Carefully loosening the tissue tendrils that held him to the mare he freed his body and hers. This made her nervous. He had suspected those tendrils were more than just a physical connection. Now she showed the whites of her eyes, remembering that she did not trust those two legged creatures called men.

He did not run or make any abrupt movements. He softly laid a hand on her back and rejoined them, fearfully. He hoped she would not startle and pull loose as he had no idea at all what snapping a tendril might do to either one of them. She calmed at the comfort flowing through them both and he thought he could just feel her mind, a mind driven by instruct and emotion. They stood together in the morning sun.

After a short while she dropped her head and began to graze. He carefully disengaged again but this time she did not seem as disturbed. Evidently slow and easy was the correct path.

He considered the herd. He was hungry but wasn't going to get human food riding a wild mare up to a diner with a herd of feral horse following him. He wanted to leave the lead mare with the herd to guide them but that meant changing mounts. He considered his options.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

It took all of the morning and a couple of hours of the afternoon but he finally tamed one of the younger mares to allow him to ride. She was a flashy chestnut with a crooked white blaze between the eyes. He ran his fingers through her tangled mane trying to restore order. The lead mare had spent time shoving him in the back. He thought she might just have a couple of jealous bones in her body but he ignored her and after a couple of hours she got bored and walked away.

He mounted the chestnut who he decided to call Jazzy and slowly they drifted apart from the herd. When he saw the lead mare turn her head to the north and draw the herd over the stream he relaxed. She would not easily give up her position of power for just a man and he thought she would keep the herd together and safe. Wishing them all the good luck in the world he nudged Jazzy forward and they headed west.

For a while they stayed in the meadows, not daring to set a hoof on a road. He was still hungry but remembered well days spent waiting for John to come back to some run down sleaze bag of a motel and a hungry child. He had handled hunger then and he could handle it now.

He wondered where John was. It occurred to him that calling Bobby should be added to his list of things to do. All this fliting about the natural world was well and good but he should still be on alert. He didn't want his first clue to be the whistle of a bullet parting his hair.

He nudged Jazzy toward a paved road he spotted off in the distance while climbing the crest of a hill. It seemed to be time to rejoin the human world.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Three hundred and fifty miles and two days back John pulled away from the Stone's front yard. The cops 'sirens were getting closer and he wanted no part of that. Let the Valentine cops figure out the body lying in Ed Stone's nicely mowed grass. John had a monster to chase and a lost son to avenge. Dead asshole druggies were definitely not part of his agenda.

"So John," Eldon drawled. "How we gonna chase down this shifter? You have decided it's some kind of shifter wearing your dead boy's face, right?"

The sound of Eldon's voice was beginning to grate on John's nerves. The man's constant need to hear his own voice made John remember how Dean always knew to shut up. The two Winchesters could drive for hundreds of miles with music playing and the wind whistling alongside the car and never exchange a word. Maybe they'd talk about where to stop for lunch or if the Impala made a strange noise but their joined lives, full of shared experiences, somehow were never fertile ground for conversation between them.

They had both missed Sam. Sam was the white noise to their lives and when Sam left he took with him the glue that made them a family. Without Sam they were just another average pair of hunters, protecting each other's backs. John was well aware the Dean had long ago stopped thinking of the older Winchester as a father. John was fine with that as long as the younger man watched his mouth, showed the proper respect and followed orders.

John grudgingly answered. "That girl said he had talked about Denver. Hard to tell if he meant it or was just feeding her a line. I think he might really mean it. He left her behind so what's the point of lying to her? It's not like she's chasing him."

Eldon looked out the passenger window. He pulled his rifle up out of the foot well and laid the gun over his thighs. "So I'll just keep an eye out here for anything that looks at us funny. It'll be good target practice anyway. It's been a while since I hunted from a moving vehicle."

"What the fuck?" John growled. "You're just going to sit there and shoot out the window? You really are six different kinds of asshole, aren't you? You'll get the locals on our ass for sure."

"Winchester, loosen up," Eldon laughed at him. "Maybe I'll get lucky and shoot that shifter of yours by accident. What are we, Hunters or Park Rangers? Who the hell cares if I leave a bunch of dead wildlife behind?"

John stopped talking but he had made up his mind. Light was more trouble than he was worth. The first opportunity he got John was tossing the man out of the truck.

For right now John just pointed the nose of the truck towards Denver. He thought he knew where Dean would go. That climb out of the back end of Denver mounted up into the sky. He bet that he'd find Dean there; sitting on the top of that mountain climb, looking over the world below.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean spotted the roadside tavern in the valley below. It was further away than it looked but the air of the plateau was deceptively clear. He and Jazzy just sat and looked for a while then Dean decided to go downhill and follow the road. He knew both he and his horse appeared to be a little off. The mare, while healthy definitely looked rugged and wild.

He sat comfortably on her without either saddle or bridle. He didn't even have a loose halter on her. In addition he was barefoot. The double pair of socks had given up fairly quickly that morning and he had abandoned the slapping tops still clinging to his ankles. He and his horse definitely looked like they were sleeping rough.

He gave the situation some thought and decided that a strange man riding up on a feral horse might be a little threatening. He would rather be given breakfast instead of taking it. Perhaps he could play on some cook's sympathies if he was a teenage runaway. The more he considered the idea the better is seemed.

Jazzy stood patiently in the shadow of a couple of windblown trees while Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head. He dug back into his memories and began to remember what if felt like when he was fourteen.

His body began to twist and change from stocky and muscular to whip thin. He grinned as he decided to increase the size of his eyes a fraction. They were already large but now were ready to be painted on velvet. He skipped the adolescent acne. His stolen clothes hung off his body, flapping in the mild breeze. As a final touch, to assure sympathy, he created some bruises on the left side of his jaw. They were healing bruises, as if he had been slapped and slapped hard, days ago. He stopped transforming when he felt one more step would tip him into waif territory.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Caroline headed for work a bit late. They could just stuff it. It really wasn't her job to pick up the supplies that Andy had forgotten. She was beginning to feel somewhat taken advantage of. It seemed lately that the cook was 'forgetting' a lot of stuff.

Then she remembered that Andy was covering for her. If the cook didn't go in and open up at five she would have to. That extra hour of sleep was precious. So what if she had to stop along the way? The system worked for both of them.

She put up with the job. She liked her current crew and the tips were good at Al's Roadhouse, especially at night when the kitchen closed but not the bar.

Her beat up Corolla ate up the dusty county miles. She had come to Colorado from New York City forty years ago and had never regretted it. The wide open Colorado skies, the mountains rising on the horizon and the long sweep of open prairie was soothing and peaceful. Occasionally she would have dreams about New York although there were fewer every year as the memories faded.

She had followed her first husband out west more than happy to leave the bitter cold New York winters behind. The winters here were just as cold but at least they were clean. The snow stayed white on the ground, not piled up in dirty drifts, pounded into ice with the passing of thousands of feet. She had settled into country life very nicely. Husband number one had disappeared long ago but she stayed. Now she had lived in Colorado longer than anywhere else. In her early days she had wandered but this place was home.

She was happy here, welcome and well known in the small town of Abberville. Her dark eyes and wavy dark hair had snagged husband number two a long time ago. Now he was gone. She put him in the ground one spring early in the century. He was buried next to their only child, a sweet little boy too fragile for the world.

Even so Caroline was more or less satisfied with the life she had lived. If it was empty in the center she had learned to be content.

Early in the morning this road was usually empty. It was the old road into Denver long since bypassed by the new interstate. Traffic was usually non-existent so she was not really that surprised to see a horse and rider on the shoulder. It was somewhat nostalgic to see the old ways coming back into the country. She shifted the Corolla into neutral to try and keep the engine quiet as she rolled past the pair.

As she went by she glanced over and was somewhat surprised to see that the rider was a kid. Maybe not exactly a kid; he was most likely a young a teen she thought. She focused first on his long legs hanging down the side of the horse. His feet were bare and hanging loose, long toes, smooth skinned; more the feet of a child than a man.

He turned his head to look at her and she caught her breath.

He was a teenager, just verging on the edge of manhood but god he was beautiful. His eyes were huge and sparkled in the sunlight. Even from this distance she could tell they were as green and as bright as it was possible for a human's eyes to be. The string of busies trailing down the side of his face were a blasphemy.

As quick as that she was past him. There was nothing she could do. She wasn't going to stop the car and stare as much as she wanted to. His face hung in front of her memory. She wondered if it could possibly be real or if she had deluded herself into believing she had seen an angel on the road to work.


	14. Chapter 14 Along the Way

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Dean Winchester, Skin Walker**

 **Chapter 14**

 **Along the Way**

 **From Chapter 13**

 _He turned his head to look at her and she caught her breath._

 _He was a teenager, just verging on the edge of manhood but god he was beautiful. His eyes were huge and sparkled in the sunlight. Even from this distance she could tell they were as green and as bright as it was possible for a human's eyes to be. The string of brusies trailing down the side of his face were a blasphemy._

 _As quick as that she was past him. There was nothing she could do. She wasn't going to stop the car and stare as much as she wanted to. His face hung in front of her memory. She wondered if it could possibly be real or if she had deluded herself into believing she had seen an angel on the road to work._

 **Chapter 14**

Caroline pulled into the lot at the rear of Al's and pounded on the back door. When Andy stuck his head out Carline waved at the back seat of her Corolla.

"There's your stuff, Andy. If you want it come get it. I'm not hauling it in for you."

She swung the passenger door open and walked back out to the end of the lot. Shielding her eyes with her hand she gazed back up the road, looking for a horse and rider. The kid and his horse were not in sight but she felt that she would see them again. After all, Al's was about the only building for miles. Where else was the kid going to go?

She turned and followed Andy into the kitchen.

"Listen, Andy," she said to his back as the tall guy was putting the supplies in the fridge. "If some kid comes to the back door looking for work, call me. He's only about fourteen or fifteen and looks like someone slapped him around pretty good. I want to see him if he shows up."

Andy turned to her, "Sure, Caroline. Anything you want and thanks for picking up the stuff. I really appreciate your help in the mornings."

"No problem, Andy," Caroline smiled. They danced this same dance every morning. It kept the wheels greased.

They both heard the front door jangle as an early morning customer arrived. Caroline headed out to the dining room and Andy headed for his grill.

A few minutes later the orders were lining up and Caroline was exchanging greetings with her regulars and pouring coffee. The morning sun was peeking in through the east facing windows and Al's was coming alive.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The place got busier as the morning stretched on. For a beat up joint in the middle of nowhere Al's did alright. Andy's cooking was more than adequate and Caroline knew everyone's face and their likes and dislikes. A lot of customers didn't even have to order out loud. Caroline knew from years of mornings just how they all liked their eggs and what to put on their plates. She forgot all about the horse and rider until Andy stuck his head out the window when she went to pick up Mr. McGruder's fried eggs.

"Your stray's at the back door." Andy smiled. "He wants to know if he can work for breakfast. What should I do.?"

"Go on and feed him then have him wash dishes." She replied. "I'll come back to talk to him when it calms down a bit after ten. "

"Fine," Andy's head disappeared and Caroline stood on her toes trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. She wondered if he was really as pretty as she remembered or if it had just been the sun in her eyes.

Just after ten Margie showed up to start her shift; lunches were usually heavy and they needed two waitresses to cover the business. Margie brought Clay along with her. He covered for Andy in the kitchen. Clay was going to get a break today if as was likely the kid had already taken care of the breakfast dishes.

Caroline took off her apron and put her order pad away. She went through the kitchen and glanced at her stray as she headed for the back door. The boy raised his head as she passed and she once again was stunned by the greenest eyes she had ever seen. Up close now she was very aware of how long his lashes were. The lashes actually touched his cheeks when he blinked.

Out the back door Caroline circled the Corolla and opened the trunk. She grabbed some stuff from the trunk, put it in a plastic bag and then turned to go back inside.

She pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down in front of the boy.

"How are you doing, kid?" she asked. "Did Andy give you enough to eat?"

The boy grinned at her almost shyly. "Oh yes. It was good. Thanks very much,"

"Hey, you worked for it. You don't' have to thank me." She paused for a moment. "I assume you have a name. I'm Caroline." She extended her hand,

"I'm Dean," he replied and shook her hand.

She pulled up a bag she had taken out of the trunk of her car. "Here, Dean. Try these on. It's only pull on sneakers and socks but they're better than nothing. You shouldn't be walking around back here in your bare feet."

The boy pulled out the sneakers and socks and had them on in a hurry. "Thanks," he grinned. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I ran out of the house so fast I didn't have time to find my shoes."

Caroline leaned away. "So what happened? Does it have anything to do with the bruises on your face? Who beat you up, Dean? "

The boy went back to staring at the table top. "It's kind of personal." He muttered.

Okay, fine" Caroline responded. "Just let us know if someone is chasing you. Tell us what to look out for. Where are you going, anyway?"

"I'm going to my brother, Sam" the boy answered. "He's out in California, a place called Palo Alto."

"Wow," Caroline breathed. "That's a ways to go. You know if you're heading for Denver and the pass through the mountains that's not the best way to go. You're going to end up in the Nevada Desert if you stay on this road."

Dean looked up at here, surprise on his face. "I didn't know that. This is the only way that I know to get through to California."

Andy wandered over and sat down. "Nah, if you want to drop down into Palo Alto you should go north to Fort Collins, cross Wyoming and head west to Laramie. Then you'll cut across the top of Nevada and drop into California above San Francisco. It's a much better route and easier to travel. It's thirteen hundred miles to Palo Alto. That's a pretty long trip, kid. What are you going to do, hitch hike?"

Dean shrugged. "I've gotten this far on my own. I just don't want my Dad to catch up to me so I gotta keep moving."

"Is that who hurt you, Dean?" Caroline asked. "Your father did this? Hopefully it'll take a while for him to track you down."

She tapped her nails on the table. "You know, today is Monday. Isn't Tuesday McGruder's regular day for going up to Fort Collins?" She glanced at Andy.

"I think you're right, Caroline." Andy said slowly. "Has the old guy been in yet today? Maybe you could ask him to give Dean a ride to the jump off for Laramie."

Caroline laughed. "Sure. Tell me Dean, have you ever waited tables? If you want to work this afternoon you might pick up enough in tips to buy a bus ticket from Fort Collins to Laramie, Wyoming.

After that you'd be on your own and it can be some pretty rough county west of Laramie. You'd be crossing Utah and then the top of Nevada near Reno before you hit the California border. You'll be sick of the Rockies long before you make it to the California valleys. You'll be following the old Overland Stage Route and that's no easy trail. "

"That would be great," Dean enthused. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself in the back country.

Caroline remembered being that age. She thought that she could conquer the world back then too.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John Winchester sat in driver's seat of his Denali up high in the pass above Denver, watching the slow moving traffic make the steep climb. He had been waiting here at a "Scenic Lookout Point" for a day and a night, convinced that Dean would be showing up every minute.

Eldon was still in the truck, which surprised the hell out of John. There had been more than one instance where John had held himself back. Now his supposed partner was irritating the hell out of him again with Eldon's talk of how he'd shoot Dean through the head as soon as look at him.

"Hey John, "Eldon whined for the fortieth time. "How long we gonna sit here? My ass is numb and I want breakfast."

"Shut up," John snapped.

"How do you know the wolf will come this way? " Eldon banged away on his same theme. "Why are you so sure?"

"I told you before; this is the only way that Dean knows to get to his brother. He'll be here, sooner or later. Now, shut up and give me some peace." John Winchester was far from a patient man and the string Elson was hanging from was getting worn pretty thin.

"You got to give up Winchester. The thing isn't Dean. Why would it even care what Dean remembers?" Eldon pulled up his damn rifle and targeted yet another bird. John reached over and knocked the rifle to the floor.

"Damn it, Winchester," Eldon barked. "You nearly shot me in the foot that time. What kind of hair you got up your ass now?"

"I've told you before," John growled back. "Stop shooting everything that moves. You're going to get us arrested sooner or later, you fool."

"Still pissed about that guy's dog, Winchester? I told you. It looked like a wolf. I didn't even see the leash."

John closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

The thread snapped and John started the Yukon up. He pulled over the crest of the pass as fast as he could go. Light was getting bounced around in the passenger seat

"Jesus Christ, Winchester." Eldon bawled. "What the hell are you doing?"

"This is the last time I'm telling you to shut up, Light." John snapped. "Put you damn seat belt on."

John pelted on deeper into the mountains. He left the traffic behind and took a turn out posted with another one of those annoying "Scenic View" signs. When he pulled into a deserted overlook he shut the SUV down and threw open his door.

Once on the ground he stomped over to the rustic touristy spilt pine fence and braced his elbows on it, looking out over a mountain side of pines. The sky was clear. There was no sound except for the wind rustling the needles on the trees. Eldon finally threw open his door and marched over to John squalling all the way. Complaint after complaint fell from the man's mouth. When he finally reached the fence Winchester turned and punched his supposed partner full in the face.

"I told you to shut the hell up." John breathed and with each word punched Light in the face again. Finally he knocked Light unconscious. John Winchester picked the lighter man up, spun around and threw Eldon Light over the fence and down into the ravine. John leaned in to make sure Light fell all the way down.

He smiled grimly and shook the blood from his fist. He couldn't even see Eldon's body any longer. Good enough, John thought. Let the bastard live and try to climb out of that hole. Most likely something would come along and eat him hopefully.

Now maybe he could hear himself think again.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Caroline's customer Mr. McGruder had dropped Dean at the Fort Collins bus station. It had only been an hour's wait for the next bus to Laramie. The pretty green eyed boy with a pocket full of crumpled bills had attracted some attention but no one bothered him. People stared but staring didn't hurt and Dean was running around inside his own head anyway, making plans and thinking things through.

He liked this body. People were kind, and helpful. When they asked if he was lost he told them he was going to his Grandad's house in Laramie. They all went for it and the lady selling tickets even gave him a break. She told him to go buy snacks for trip with the little bit of money left over. Laramie was almost a hundred miles away and the bus didn't stop along the way.

Dean gave her his sunniest smile and batted his lashes. He almost felt bad manipulating the nice lady that way but, he reminded himself, he wasn't really fourteen years old. The lifelong con man had difficulty holding his natural instincts down.

Waiting on the hard wooden bench he made friends with a couple of younger boys. They were so happy to show the supposed teenager their hand held games and how to play. This was a new world to Dean. He thought it was pretty likely that Sam knew all about this stuff but it was new to him. By the time the bus showed up Dean had a couple of complete ensorcelled followers.

He felt pretty comfortable buried with his underage friends. No one would look at him twice. He was just another boy entranced by electronic games; callow, loud and far too young to be dangerous to anyone. He doubted there would be any rumors about him and no Hunters would mention him at all. Unless someone on the bus had an EMF meter he couldn't see how he could be tracked.

After a while he got bored with the kids and told them he had to take care of making some calls to his family. The boys went further back in the bus to take up annoying their own younger brothers and their parents again. Dean watched out the window as the Fort Collins valley receded and the Rocky Mountains rose up before him inch by inch. The mountains lined the Western skyline, leading him on. He was very aware that those mountains separated him from Sam and his brother was all the family he had left.

Sam picked up on the second ring.

"Dean? That you?" Sam voice was warm and welcoming. "Where are you? When will you get here?"

Dean laughed. "Calm down, baby boy. I'm on a bus in Wyoming but I'm getting closer. I'll be there in maybe a couple of weeks at the most. Is it alright for me to come there?"

"Why wouldn't it be alright?" Sam asked. "Of course you should come here."

"Hasn't John filled you up with warnings?" Dean asked. "Told you to stay away from me and call him when you see me? I'm telling you, Sam; me and Dad are seriously messed up now. He wants me dead."

"Come on, Dean." Sam disagreed. "He's your Dad. He doesn't want you dead. That must have been a hell of a fight. Better even than mine. Dad told me not to come back but he never threatened to kill me. What did you do?"

"You'll understand when I get there, Sam" Dean replied. "Trust me though; I'm still your brother no matter what Dad thinks."


	15. Chapter 15 What Happens Next

A note to all. Our wonderful friend LeeMarieJack has passed away. At her son's request wonderful volunteer writers and betas have stepped in to take up the rest of the chapters to complete "Dean Winchester, Skin Walker" which was Lee's last open story. Winter Gray

This lovely chapter is written by BlackIceWitch.

…

" _Hasn't John filled you up with warnings?" Dean asked. "Told you to stay away from me and call him when you see me? I'm telling you, Sam; me and Dad are seriously messed up now. He wants me dead."_

" _Come on, Dean," Sam disagreed. "He's your Dad. He doesn't want you dead. That must have been a hell of a fight. Better even than mine. Dad told me not to come back but he never threatened to kill me. What did you do?"_

" _You'll understand when I get there," Dean replied. "Trust me though; I'm still your brother no matter what Dad thinks."_

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The bus pulled up at the Laramie bus stop just after noon and Dean got off, stretching out his legs and back as he looked at the low brick building between the small conifers. A blue and gold neon sign overlooking the lot proclaimed the 1st Inn Travelodge. The air was bitter, biting through his shirt and jacket effortlessly, and a thin, capricious breeze carried the flat, almost metallic, scent of snow over the cracked concrete and gravel parking lot.

The mountains weren't going to give him any time for dicking around. He needed to get going.

"Hey, Dean!"

Mickey, the youngest of the kids he'd used for camouflage on the ride, yelled and waved, gesturing to the building behind him. "You comin'?"

Dean shook his head. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jerking his head toward the highway. "Gotta get goin'," he called back. "See you later."

A fast scan of the lot showed him a few curious glances, other passengers mostly. He hunched into the denim jacket and walked toward the road, wondering how easy it would be to boost something that would get him through the passes as fast as possible. In his pocket, the last of the crumpled wad of cash crackled. There was enough left to get a burger, maybe a beer. Not enough for anything else.

Next to the Travelodge, a fill up served maybe a half-dozen pickups and cars. Across the highway, the pickings looked a little better. Another fill up held a couple of long-haul trucks, signs leading toward the town center showing more diners and an auto repair place. The icy wind had found its way down his neck and Dean wondered if he should be thinking about hooking a ride with a rig, riding over the passes in heated comfort. He turned the corner and stopped, studying the truck stop's bar and grill that'd seen better days, the patched asphalt lot filled with cars, pickups and long haul trucks.

Food, he decided. Hot food, a cold beer and he'd take a look around the place when it got darker. He'd be able to find something. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window of the parked car beside him and grinned humorlessly. The teenager staring back at him was too young for a beer and too pretty to go unremarked in the place. He'd need someplace he could change.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John rubbed an impatient hand over the tangle of his beard as he studied the map on the passenger seat of the Denali. Even traveling on foot, Dean should've been here by now, he thought. There were few options for crossing the Rockies, most of them completely weather dependent this time of year. The 80 was the most likely. It crossed the mountains and would take Dean over Utah and Nevada.

Pushing the map aside, he picked up his journal. Whatever had happened, he was certain now that Dean had been bitten. The damage to the woman's face and skull in South Dakota had been superficial and he'd followed up on the pathology reports. The woman's mouth had had traces of foreign blood and tissue. He'd skimmed over those closely-typed results. The blood type had been his son's.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat. The man found at the same site had been the skin walker of the area's Native Americans. His best speculation had been that the skin walker had discovered something else in his territory and had started hunting it and the she-wolf'd decided to use a decoy. He was pretty sure she'd been the anomalous werewolf he'd been looking for. He still had no clear information about her, only that she'd exhibited the traits of both shapeshifter and werewolf and had been devilishly difficult to follow.

And while he'd been out searching for her, she'd turned Dean.

He made himself say it clearly. Turned his eldest son and condemned the boy to the life of a monster.

" _Your son is a real good guy. He brought my daughter and grandsons home to me."_

Stone's voice echoed through his thoughts. It sure as hell didn't sound like monster behavior.

 _Thinking like that will get you killed, maybe Sam as well_ , a snide voice, sounding all too much like Light, said at the back of his mind. _No matter what he does, he's still a monster and sooner or later he'll start taking innocent lives_.

Maybe, John allowed. Maybe not.

Opening his eyes, he looked at his watch. This road was a dead end. Dean could've found out about the other routes anywhere along the way and he needed to get moving.

He flipped on the radio, turning down the volume as he started the car and backed out of the look out's graveled turnoff. C&W droned from the speakers until he was halfway back to Denver. The weather report came on just as he reached the city limits.

" _Well, folks, time to get those snow-blowers checked out, we gotta a good-sized system coming down, should be here this time t'morra. Temperatures'll be dropping and it looks like it'll be bringing the first snow of the season our way–"_

John snapped off the radio and turned on his lights, taking the bypass around Denver and heading north.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The burger was a distant memory, but the clothing fit him, reinforcing how goddamned thin and flimsy the shirt, jeans and jacket were in the cold of the mountains, Dean thought, blowing on his hands to get his fingers limber enough to finesse the flat strip of metal down alongside the window glass.

He'd transformed back into mostly himself four hours ago. Hair a bit lighter, with a full beard which was at least protecting the lower half of his face. None of the truckers in the grill were heading out and the weather forecasts that'd repeatedly interrupted the shows on the bar's flat screen TV were showing a front moving steadily down from the north.

Darkness had fallen a little under an hour ago. Finishing his beer and resisting temptation in the form of the slim waitress who'd spent a lot of time rearranging his silverware as she'd served him, he'd come out to the lot to find a few more cars parked there. He'd decided on the dark blue four-wheel drive after seeing the extra driving lights arrayed above the grille, and the neatly organized supplies packed into the back.

The lock gave with a loud click and he pull out the slim jim, opening the door and tossing it inside before sliding into the driver's seat. Feeling under the steering column, he found the wires and pulled them out, leaning down to strip the ends with his teeth before twisting them together. The engine started with gratifying speed and he glanced at the dash, checking its array of lit indicators, before shifting into reverse and rolling out of the lot. Half a tank of fuel and less than a hundred thousand on the clock.

WY-130 would take him west. He'd need to see what the car carried and he needed more clothes, warmer ones. There'd be big chain store around somewhere and he could switch plates at the same time.

The heater began to pump warmer air into the car as he turned onto the street and by the time he'd reached the Wal-Mart on the other side of town, he was comfortable again. Parking next to the service entrance of the enormous building, Dean turned off the engine and flipped open the glove box, rewarded with a flashlight tucked between a pair of fleece-lined gloves and a set of small screwdrivers in a flat, vinyl pack. The yield in the console was even better, he thought, lifting out the roll of bills and running a thumbnail through them.

He got out of the car and walked around the back, popping open the flimsy lock with the smallest of the screwdrivers and shining the light over the contents. A sleeping bag, winter-rated, was nestled against a cooler filled with canned and dried food. A long gym bag held clothing – jeans, sweaters, socks and shirts, even a down-filled jacket scrunched down at the bottom of one end. It was a shame that all the clothing appeared to be women's wear.

Sighing, he shut the door and turned his attention to the flush steel door in the building. A moment's work and the lock gave way, and he slipped inside, keeping one hand over the end of the flashlight to limit the light.

It took him twenty minutes to get through the store, grabbing a thick coat, jeans, shirts, another pair of boots, wrap-around sunglasses and a men's watch that showed the phases of the moon and had a stop-watch built in. In the firearms section, he liberated a 9mm automatic and pump action from the locked displays. He added boxes of ammunition and thought regretfully of the salt'n'iron rounds in the trunk of the Impala – in whatever his father was driving now, he corrected himself – walking to the other counter to pick out a heavy hunting knife. Rancher's gloves went into the nylon backpack on top of the weapons, and he circled back around to the side door, adding a heavy duty flashlight to the pack and grabbing a shrink-wrapped twenty-four pack of bottled water.

He could see the small red light flashing to one of the side of the breeched door and he glanced at his newly acquired watch. The police station was on the other side of town, the main reason for choosing this particular store, and he was about out of time. Slipping out, he dumped the pack and water into the back seat and slid behind the four-wheel drive's wheel, sparking the ignition wire and twisting the ends together. The engine came to life and he pulled out and was turning the next corner as the rear-view mirror lit up with swirling red and blue lights, distantly behind him.

Taking the long way back around the outskirts of the town, Dean pulled into a gas station not far from his route out of Laramie. He parked at the back, the screwdriver set in his pocket as he walked slowly along the row of parked vehicles there. Choosing an early model and chunky SUV, he unscrewed the plates and replaced them with the set from the four-wheel drive. Both were local. His odds were good that they wouldn't be noticed for a day or two at least. When the new set had been screwed tightly onto his car, he drove to the pumps and filled up, taking the roll of cash from the console.

He was beginning to understand what a pain in the ass life the shifters he'd encountered must've had as he stepped into the store. The need for a lair, someplace to keep clothing, cash, vehicles, was becoming more apparent every day. He thought of the old sewer junction where he and Sam had encountered their first shifter and shook his head. He couldn't live like that.

The clerk behind the counter was watching a small TV under the counter, and took the cash without bothering to look up, ringing up the small collection of candy and snacks Dean added.

"You, uh, got any maps here? Local area?"

A waved hand indicated the far wall and Dean left the road food on the counter, turning away. There were a number of maps in the rack and he pulled out the region forestry survey maps as well as a tourist map showing the local attractions. There were a number of alternative routes west, ones that didn't involve the interstate. Taking them back to the counter, he added them to the pile and the clerk rang them up with a deep sigh.

"Thanks," Dean said, picking up the plastic sack.

"Have a nice day," the clerk mumbled back.

"Oh, uh, you got a payphone here?" Dean stopped by the door.

"It's outside, round the side." The clerk turned away, turning up the volume on the under-counter TV set again.

"Thanks."

It probably wasn't the best idea, calling from here, he considered, digging through the change the clerk had given him, but he wasn't sure when he'd get another chance. And he needed to know what his dad was doing.

Bobby's number rang out, and Dean retrieved the quarters that jingled back into the slot, holding them indecisively. He could try again, once he was out of Laramie. Or he could try someone else.

He put the handful back in, and dialed the number he'd memorized as a small boy, listening to it ring.

" _Hello?"_

"Jim?" He drew in a breath. "It's Dean."

" _Dean! What the–hell, son, where are you?"_ Jim's voice deepened. _"Your dad's going nuts looking for you!"_

"I – uh –" Dean hesitated. Had John kept it a secret? Maybe with the hopes of finding something that would cure him? He hadn't seen that in his father's face, back when he'd peeled out.

"Uh – yeah – I'm good, I'm fine. I'm in Laramie right now," he said into the phone, rubbing the heel of his hand over his forehead. "You can tell him I'm – uh–"

" _Dean? Where are you? Can you stay put? John called about an hour ago, said he was in Denver, heading north–"_

 _What?_ Dean looked at the handset in disbelief. Son of a bitch.

"Uh, Jim, look, me and him, we had a kind of a disagreement," Dean said quickly, cutting the other man off. "I'd appreciate it if you – uh – could give us some time, you know, to cool off, before he catches up."

The silence on the other end of the line stretched out, the seconds getting longer and longer. Dean was wondering if he should just hang up when Jim spoke again.

" _Okay, sure,"_ he said, and Dean heard the deep sigh. _"I won't call him,"_ he added a second later. _"But if he calls, I'm not going to lie to him, you understand?"_

"Yeah," Dean said. "Thanks."

" _But you're okay?"_

"Yeah, just need to get away on my own for a bit." Dean looked at his watch again. He really needed to get out of here. "Uh, thanks, Jim. I'll be in touch."

He hung up when he heard the priest's goodbye and headed back to the car. Denver. How the hell had John gotten there so fast?

The answer came almost immediately, his fingers resting on the car's wires as it hit him. Elly. Or her father. Or both. They were the only ones he'd mentioned Denver to. And his father could spin a smooth, polished lie with the best of them.

He started the car and pulled away from the gas station, making the left onto the highway in two blocks. From Nebraska to Denver was a pretty damned obvious pointer, he thought, staring at the road lit up by his headlights. Due west and heading for Sam. He was too predictable, and John knew practically everything there was to know about his eldest son.

 _Almost_ everything, he amended to himself a moment later, grinning slightly. Even John Winchester would have a hard time following the Man with a Million Faces, he thought, and put his foot down hard.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The highway was a two lane, winding as he entered the Medicine Bow National Forest. Signs advised that the road was permanently closed for the winter but it was open and empty now. He passed through Centennial and half an hour later, saw the lights of a building, tucked into the woods. To either side the mixed pines of the forest advance and retreated, the road climbing and falling. It was soothing, and after the last few days, restful to be in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the road to worry about.

The muted roar of the tires over the asphalt and the steady rumble of the engine faded from his hearing, his thoughts churning over the last few days. Shifters were a genetic anomaly. They couldn't turn anyone else. What'd the bitch said to him? We are new things under the sky … she'd been bitten by a werewolf … and somehow, whatever it was in the wolf's bite had given her a new gift, the ability to pass her genetic abilities along.

He cocked his head, glancing up at the sky. The moon was waxing toward full but he didn't feel any different. He could've slipped the body and face he was wearing in an instant, changed to anything in the world, without any more trigger than his own desire. A ripple of heat slid under the skin of his hands and he tightened his grip on the wheel. No need to change into anything right now.

At the back of his mind, something clamored. His chances of there being a cure were bad.

 _Don't feel any different_ , he thought, frowning at the road. No insane hungers. No more than the usual anger at his fellow humans for their stupidity and selfish desires. Maybe the monster part wasn't bred in. Maybe it was nurtured by the lives those monsters had to deal with.

 _Did it matter_ , he asked himself derisively? Every hunter in the country would be after his ass, maybe even led by his father. Since Sam'd left, John's driven anger to kill anything unnatural had grown, gotten deeper and stronger.

The yawn caught him by surprise, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes, glancing sideways at the maps lying on the passenger seat. The tourist map showed a hotel and a motel in Saratoga and he was way overdue for some downtime. Another glance at the watch on his wrist showed the time at 3:14 a.m. On impulse, he turned right when the 130 met the 230, heading due north.

He was surprised to see the office lights still on when he pulled into the Sand & Sage Motel fifteen minutes later. Getting out of the car, he stretched, joints popping and cracking after the drive. Eight hours solid and a decent breakfast would go a long way to improving his chances of a clean drive through the back roads.

The half-asleep clerk took his cash and pushed the register toward him, turning to snag the key for Room 21 from the hooks behind him.

Dean hesitated over the name, finally deciding on Frank Jones. It was innocuous and non-cute. He changed his hand-writing from its usual block printing to a wobbly cursive and signed the name with a flourish.

"Room's at the end of the el," the clerk said, pulling the book back. "Have a nice night."

Putting the keys into his pocket, he nodded and walked out. The angle of the parking slots meant his plates wouldn't be visible from the road. He moved the car to the front of the room and grabbed the pack out of the back.

Inside, the room was clean and nondescript. After days of switching bodies, living as a horse, then a kid, and doing nothing but traveling, he stripped fast and walked into the bathroom, turning the hot tap on full. Steam filled the small room and he wiped it from the mirror, looking at his reflection. He looked a bit like himself, but the hair color and beard really did deflect any resemblance, at first glance anyway.

Stepping into the stream of hot water, he let out an involuntary groan, remembering his earlier thoughts about living like this. He was going to need something permanent, he thought, leaning against the tiles and ducking his head, the flow rushing down his back. Something with a good hot water system, a bed, enough room to keep the arsenal he'd need.

And, he thought, picking up the soap and starting to lather it, he needed help. He needed his brother.


	16. Blood, Lies and CCTV

_Chapter 16 – Blood, Lies and CCTV_

 _A/N:_ Three weeks ago I told Lee that I liked the way Dean used those tendrils of his when he gentled his lead mare in his wild horse herd out in the countryside. She planned on having Dean use that power again later on in the story, so here it is.

~ Silver Ruffian

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 _He made himself say it clearly. Turned his eldest son and condemned the boy to the life of a monster._

" _Your son is a real good guy. He brought my daughter and grandsons home to me."_

 _Stone's voice echoed through his thoughts. It sure as hell didn't sound like monster behavior._

 _Thinking like that will get you killed, maybe Sam as well, a snide voice, sounding all too much like Light, said at the back of his mind. No matter what he does, he's still a monster and sooner or later he'll start taking innocent lives._

 _Maybe, John allowed. Maybe not._

 __..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-..__

Fatigue finally set in with a vengeance. Dean didn't remember drying himself off with a towel, but he had, hadn't he? He stared dully at his surroundings. The shower was off, his skin was dry and the towel was carelessly draped over the rack.

The call of the bed was irresistible and he was too tired to put up much of a fight. Dean stumbled out of the bathroom. The room was warm and that sucked what little energy he had left out of him. Wasn't the first time he'd ever slept commando when he was alone. The more things changed, the more they remained the same.

Ten feet away from the bed, then five, then two...

Dean's knees bumped up against the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed. The string holding him upright finally gave way but he didn't fall forward. He still had enough presence of mind to lower himself instead. He crawled forward on his hands and knees.

At the top of the bed Dean collapsed, cradling the pillows with both arms. Wonder of wonders, the sheets were soft against his bare skin. The faint clean scent of fabric softener registered in his fading consciousness. As far as motels went the Sand & Sage Motel was head and shoulders above the skeezy ones he usually found himself in.

 _Not skeezy at all,_ he thought muzzily. _'s nice..._

Maybe things were looking up. Maybe he could get out of this in one piece. Those thoughts drifted upwards inside his skull, loose balloons drifting up toward open sky. He couldn't hold onto them. Didn't want to anymore.

Dean drifted off into the black. He rested there, his mind mercifully blank at first. Little by little images began to form.

Dean dreamed. Dreamed of when he was a kid back in Lawrence. The sight of his mom, bright and smiling, made his heart ache. One scene after another flashed behind his eyes: sitting in the kitchen with her, giggling. Good smells. Cookies.

Playing ball in the park. The way Mary smiled at him, full of brightness and warmth, made his heart ache.

 _What the hell would she think if she saw me now?_

The dreams shifted in response to his pain. His body grew into an adult. The scene changed. He drove the Impala on an open country road. He felt light. Free. He wasn't a hunter or the hunted. Didn't have a care in the world.

That dream darkened, then faded out. When the dream came back everything was wrong.

..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The ground was rock hard against his naked back. He was in a forest somewhere.

"You're...you're killing me," Dean gasped.

The hurt in his body burned hellfire. He didn't need to lift up his head and look at himself. The blades driven into his wrists and ankles into the earth were silver.

Faces swam above him, grey blurs that he couldn't recognize at first. Dean blinked sweat and blood out of his eyes. His vision cleared in a snap to crystal clarity despite the bright sunlight.

"Sam, please..."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam replied calmly. "I don't want to get dragged back into the life I left behind."

John stood beside Sam. Over on Dean's left stood Pastor Jim and Bobby. The regretful yet determined looks on everyone's faces chilled Dean to the bone. They'd come to a decision about him. They all had.

He was the kind of thing they hunted.

"Dad...don't. Don't do this..." Dean bucked up against the stakes. No good. His desperate motion sent even stronger waves of pain that stiffened his muscles. "Bobby...Pastor Jim...please..."

John shook his head. "You're not my son. Not anymore."

"I'm not a monster. I haven't killed anyone-"

"Not yet," John said serenely. "But you will. We all know you will. You can't escape what you are now."

The others nodded.

John held a silver blade in his right hand. "I'll make this quick." His shadow eclipsed the sun as he leaned over Dean.

Dean jerked backwards as far as the blades would allow. He shook his head over and over again. "No! Dad, please, please don't-"

The blade sliced into Dean's heart. Fire coursed through his body like a river overflowing its banks.

"No...noooo-"

Dean opened his eyes.

He couldn't move at first. His vision cleared as he looked down at himself.

Bedsheets. The bedsheets were wrapped around his body.

He tasted salt in his mouth and throat. Dean sat up, then doubled over. His heart pounded against his chest, a wild thing wanting release. God, the pain was so bad for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Dean scooted backwards. He pushed his back against the wooden headboard. He sat there hunched over, rocking back and forth. His eyes went slightly out of focus.

If he yelled out during the dream no one noticed. Nobody came to his door and knocked. He would have ignored them if they had.

"It was a dream, dumbass," he whispered out loud as he rocked. Ahh, his chest ached. His body wasn't convinced by his words.

"Just a fucked up dream, okay? That's what it was. That's _all_ it was. I'm okay. I'm fine."

The pain gradually faded away. Dean straightened up and flicked a glance at the window. He couldn't see past the beige curtains but he could tell it was light out there.

He leaned over and snagged his new watch from the nightstand. It was seven forty AM.

Time to move.

There were many advantages to traveling light. He hadn't unpacked his stuff. After he washed up and dressed himself he took one last look in the bathroom mirror.

 _Damn. I look as bad as I feel._

Despite that he decided to keep his present form. There was no need to change into someone or something else. Not yet, anyway.

He walked back into the bedroom and picked up his bags. Those wrap around sunglasses came in handy. He slipped them on before he stepped outside.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Thirty miles down the road his stomach growled angrily.

 _Coffee. Food._

Dean sighed as he pulled into the Gulp N Go convenience store/gas station. The idea of mystery breakfast meat and lousy coffee wasn't exactly appealing but those candy bars stashed in the glove compartment had lost their charm too. After leaving the Sand & Sage Motel he'd eaten half of a Payday bar and then shoved it back into the glove compartment.

Dean parked the truck and walked into the store. The automatic doors slid open. He stepped inside.

Everything went sideways.

His nostrils flared at the acrid scent of fear, body odor and a strong chemical smell. Someone stepped up behind him. Thick, strong fingers dug into the back of his neck as though they were cuffing a wayward dog or cat.

Metal clicked in the space directly behind his head. Overlaid over those scents was one that was very familiar to him: gunpowder.

The convenience clerk stood behind the counter. Older guy, grey hair. He turned toward Dean, wide eyed, pale and shaking. Bruises darkened the right side of his face.

The customer standing at the counter had a 45 automatic in his hand. He didn't point it at the clerk. The clerk wasn't a factor anymore. Never had been. Being pistol whipped like that was definitely a major attitude adjustment.

 _Shit. Shit!_ Dean thought. _I am so screwed._

He was a shifter. He had powers beyond that of mortal men but they were still limited. Bullets would not bounce off him.

The man standing behind him snorted. God, even his breath reeked. Dean smelled the meth rolling out of his pores. "So what we got here?" the druggie rumbled.

Dean stood quietly, his hands down by his sides. "I don't want any trouble, mister."

"Oh yeah?" The two gunmen sneered. "You might not want trouble," the one at the counter drawled, "but you surely found it."

Gunman number one dug his fingers into Dean's neck even harder.

 _Skin to skin contact. Thanks, dumbass,_ Dean thought.

He pushed tissue tendrils out of his skin into the man's flesh.

A casual observer wouldn't have noticed anything strange or weird. The surveillance cameras certainly didn't. Apparently dumbass didn't realize what was going on. Yet.

 _No witnesses,_ the guy thought. _We never leave 'em alive._

Dean pushed in as hard as he could. He wasn't gentle like he'd been with his lead mare up in the mountains. He was mad at himself for letting some meth head get the drop on him. The man's body stiffened at the insult to his body.

Linking up was different with a human. Dean tried not to gag. He tasted the bastard. The roof of his mouth flooded with the thick, heavy taste of street drugs.

Dean didn't have to turn around to see the man's expression grow suddenly blank. The hunter turned shapeshifter took total control.

 _Gotcha._

Gunman number two blinked in confusion. "Alvin?"

Alvin didn't answer.

 _Shoot your partner,_ Dean thought at his captive.

Alvin grunted. He tried to fight Dean's control but it was no good. His arm shook slightly but he straightened his arm, aimed at his partner and fired.

Gunman number two went down in a heap. His pistol flew out of his hand, hit the floor and slid into a near corner. He looked shocked as he rolled back and forth on the floor. "Shot me...you stupid bastard," he moaned. "Yuh shot me!"

Dean pushed into Alvin even deeper. The man rose up on tiptoe, jittering and shaking.

 _Lights out, jackass,_ Dean pulled the tendrils back into himself. A sharp snap inside his head as the connection was broken, a corkscrew of tension between his eyes. That he could deal with.

Alvin's eyes rolled up into his head. His knees buckled and he hit the floor.

Dean kicked Alvin's gun into a far corner.

The other one was still conscious. Dean covered the distance between them in three strides. He unbuckled the man's belt and pulled it out of the loops. He knelt and turned the perp over on his belly, tied his hands behind his back.

The clerk stood there with his mouth open. Dean looked up at him and scowled. "Uh...cops?"

The man stared at him.

Dean raised his right hand up to his ear as he mimed the "call me" gesture. "You could call them? Sometime this year would be nice."

The clerk nodded jerkily, then picked up the phone underneath the counter. He was so nervous he dropped the receiver once, then twice.

Dean's belly growled again. Hell, he couldn't hang around and wait for local law enforcement. Better to shag ass now and eat later. He walked back to the front door, knelt and hogtied Alvin with his own belt. Alvin was still breathing. Dean hoped he'd wake up with one hell of a headache.

"I need cops over here!" The clerk screamed into the phone. "At the Gulp N Go! Robbery! We had a - hey, mister!"

Dean stood up, turned and walked out the door.

TBC


	17. The Eagle Has Landed

This wonderful chapter is written by Dizzo

...

" _I need cops over here!" The clerk screamed into the phone. "At the Gulp N Go! Robbery! We had a – hey, Mister!"_

 _Dean stood up, turned and walked out the door_ _._

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John yawned as he passed the signs that told him he was entering Medicine Bow National Park. It had been a long few days, with not much sleeping and a whole lot of driving. Taking into account those assholes Marty and Light, not to mention his anger and concern about Dean, it was no wonder he was running on empty.

He hoped Dean would be nearby. This is the way Elly had indicated that he might come. At least she'd pointed him towards Denver. It was just common sense that this was the route Dean would take if he was heading towards Sam.

A million thoughts swirled around in his mind. Dean, a shapeshifter? His son? The son of a hunter was now one of the hunted. John didn't even begin to know how to process that knowledge. His hunter's instincts told him one thing, his father's instincts told him something very different.

Yawning again, he rubbed eyes that felt like they'd been slow-roasted, and couldn't help the sigh that escaped him when he saw a sign for the Sand and Sage Motel only a mile up ahead.

Unfortunately, glancing at the sign meant that missed the elk which charged out of the undergrowth into the road in front of him. When he did see it a split second later, his hunter's reflexes, dulled by fatigue, had him swerving the Denali in a grotesque, tire-screaming arc around the great dun bulk who had, by then, sauntered back into the forest, apparently unconcerned by the chaos it left in its wake.

Finally, the truck mounted the shoulder, bouncing and rocking as it went, jostling John all over the cabin, coming to a sudden and terminal halt against the trunk of a large tree.

Flung forward in his seat, John let out an involuntary gasp as the shock of the impact knocked the air out of his lungs with bone-jarring force.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Fumbling blindly for the door handle, John tumbled out of the truck as the door swung open, and sunk to his knees, groaning as his battered lungs fought for air. He was aware of a few blossoming aches and pains, most notably one in the side of his chest and another in his knee which had, at some point, made sharp contact with the truck's dash, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with.

After a few moments' disorientation, he gathered his senses enough to realize two things. One, that his truck was going nowhere anytime soon if the steam hissing out of the fractured radiator was anything to go by; and two, he was going to lose his lead on Dean if he didn't figure out a way to rectify the situation.

He didn't want to do it, but circumstances forced his hand. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he called Sam's number.

John shut off his cell phone and sighed as he glanced at his wrecked truck. Sam hadn't exactly sounded thrilled to hear him. He had at least asked if he was okay when John had told him about the crash. There had even been a note of concern in his voice, but once John had explained that he was fine except for possibly a cracked rib and a banged up knee, the tone had cooled into its usual level of formality.

Sam had seemed satisfied that he'd found a motel to rest up in, but short of asking for the name and location, hadn't seemed interested in any further _information._

 _No, Dean didn't have a cell phone, so Sam couldn't give John his number, and wouldn't even if he could. Yes, Dean had been keeping in touch using payphones, and next time he called, Sam would let him know about the accident. Goodbye Dad, take care._

And that was that.

John gathered up a few necessities from the back of the truck and headed wearily on to the motel that the sign had pointed to.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John was just stepping out of a shower when his phone rang. He'd spent an hour arranging for the truck to get towed back to a safe place until he was in a situation to retrieve it. Then it was time to rest his knee, just about finished off by the walk to the hotel, and grab some food before getting some much needed shuteye.

He glanced at the phone and almost ignored the call when he saw the Caller ID saying 'number withheld'. Something, somewhere – an instinct - told him to answer it. He was glad he did because as he picked up the call, he heard Dean's gruff voice. "Dad?"

John took a deep breath.

"Dean."

"How are you?" Dean asked hesitantly. "Sam said you'd totaled the truck."

"Yeah," John sighed, scraping a hand over his face. "Got a hunter friend dealing with it now, taking it back to his yard."

An awkward silence fell between the two men.

"Where are you?" John eventually asked.

"I'm here, at the Sand and Sage," Dean's voice stated.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean had only called Sam because there had been a convenient payphone, and – as a bonus - one that looked relatively sanitary at the Gulp N Go. He figured a progress update wouldn't hurt, given what a control freak Sammy was. He had taken the news of John's crash with outward calm and inward turmoil.

He was only thirty miles on from the Sand and Sage, and he needed to be moving on from here pretty sharp after the chaos he'd left in his wake. It would be no hardship at all to turn round and check on John. Or would it? Dean wished that he had Sam's steel. He wished he couldn't care. What sort of son would it make him if he ignored his father's misfortune? ' _It would make you the kind of son your father deserves'_ a little part of him thought. He scolded himself for thinking it.

Dean made a point of transforming back into himself to go back to see John, darkening his blond hair down to a more familiar sandy brown, and dispensing with the beard, replacing it with the dusting of tawny stubble he usually favored.

He replaced the receiver of the payphone in the motel lobby, and stepped outside into the parking lot, settling back to lean against the dark blue fender of his four wheel drive. He waited for one of the motel doors to open and a liberal helping of shit to hit the fan as soon as it did.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John had thrown on the first clothes that came to hand before he flung the door open to see Dean standing beside an unfamiliar vehicle, staring in his direction.

It didn't look like he was looking at a monster. John knew how shapeshifters worked, but damnit to hell, with all the anger and suspicion and theories that had been flying around in his mind, he half expected to see Dean standing there with horns and cloven feet.

"Hey Dad," Dean began, his voice flat, his face expressionless.

"Hell, Dean, what the fuck's been going on?" John snapped as he closed the distance between them, the faint limp from his injured knee clearly evident. "I've been chasing your ass across half the goddamn continent. I've had every hunter from here to Alaska poking around wanting to waste you on sight."

"I'm fine, thanks," Dean replied, as calmly and as pointedly as he could manage. "How are you? Sam told me that you hurt a rib in the accident."

"You wanna watch that smart mouth," John warned. "This attitude of yours isn't winning you any favors. Now, I'll only ask once more, what the fuck happened?"

Dean shrugged. "Just some stuff that I need to deal with."

John leaned in, invading Dean's personal space. "You got bitten, didn't you? That girl. You're a god damn shapeshifter, Dean. You're just like the vermin we hunt now, is that it?"

Dean felt his heart racing like a jackhammer as he could see John's face growing redder and redder with rage as it hovered too close to his own.

"I'm not having this conversation here in the parking lot of a motel," he replied, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice as he felt his own fury and indignation grow.

"You'll have this conversation anywhere I fucking say we'll have it," John roared. Behind John's shoulder, Dean noticed a net curtain twitch at the window in room 2.

He tossed the four wheel drive's key high in the air in front of John's face, forcing the older man to step back to catch it. "Take it," he stated as he began to step away. "She's yours."

John hesitated momentarily as he looked down at the key he'd managed to catch, nestling in the palm of his hand, then looked up to see Dean walking away.

"Don't turn your back on me, son; we're not done here," he shouted, following Dean as he disappeared behind a fence.

The only response he got was a heavy flapping of wings as a golden eagle ascended from behind the fence barely a moment later, and soared upwards and away from him without a backwards glance.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

It had seemed like a reasonable transformation at first; a spur of the moment decision. There was no way he could disappear from John's sight so swiftly and so completely by remaining grounded, and so to fly away had been the answer. The eagle form had come to him instantaneously. If he was going to fly, he was going to do it in style, not as some pansy-assed little thing like a cardinal or a sparrow.

But now, here he was, airborne, hovering hell knows how high above the landscape and he was seriously questioning his decision. A perilously long way below him, he could see his own miniscule, T-shaped shadow traversing the land, and how he wished he was down there with it. He felt giddy with panic, and sick; all the usual feelings that overcame him when he didn't have his feet on terra firma.

Dean's heart raced. Yes, he was an eagle, and he guessed eagles didn't usually suffer from … height-o-phobia … or whatever the hell it was called, but he was also Dean Winchester; Dean Winchester who would rather chew his own leg off than set foot in a plane.

But, he told himself, that was just the thing. He wasn't in a plane. He wasn't entrusting his continued existence to some dude with gold epaulettes and a wheelie suitcase. He was the master of his own destiny. The powerful flex of his newly-sprouted eagle wings was what was keeping him in the air now, and as long as he kept flapping, he didn't need the ground beneath his feet. And that was an oddly comforting feeling.

Swallowing back the overpowering urge to land, he forced himself to keep flying, heading onwards towards the ever-changing horizon. He knew he was traveling in a south-westerly direction, there or thereabouts, and that was good enough for him.

As time passed, his initial nervousness began to give way to exhilaration. The freedom of being able to travel up and down as well as back and forth and side to side was intoxicating in a terrifying kind of way, and he found himself swooping and rolling with a euphoria that he guessed land-based animals never truly experienced.

His wings didn't seem to be feeling any kind of fatigue yet. The sweeping desert thermals were holding him aloft effortlessly and, if anything they were getting stronger, hurling him through the air like the swift and deadly predator that he was. If nature had ever invented a missile, the eagle truly was it.

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

He guessed another two hours had passed, and suddenly, those air currents which had kept him aloft thus far didn't seem quite so amicable.

He had been feeling the impending pressure of a storm approaching; the violent gusts which had been buffeting him about for the last half hour were dragging with them creeping, soupy grey clouds. At that moment, being a flying animal didn't seem quite so attractive and the familiar pit of dread settled once again in his pitching and yawing stomach.

Through the darkening skies, he spotted the fringes of a sparse forest which clung forlornly to the edge of a russet expanse of desert. It looked to be about five miles away and would give him some cover while this storm blew over. Until then, tossed and buffeted by crosswinds, and occasional gusts which swirled round and hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, he would be testing his new-found flying abilities to their limit.

Now his wings truly were starting to feel the strain. His whole body screamed for respite as he plunged and tumbled toward the forest.

The skies were black, swirling, boiling stormclouds had closed in and engulfed all but the edge of his forest, the one place that could give him sanctuary. He was so close and yet so far from its welcoming shelter.

Forcing his head down to protect his eyes from the sand-laden wind which whipped around him, he soldiered on, descending lower and lower through the tumult, tucking in his wings as he approached the flailing tangle of trees. Deafened by the screaming wind and the clashing thunder, he ducked between two trees and the darkness beneath the canopy embraced him.

Above him, the storm clashed and thundered, its fury shaking the canopies and shredded leaves falling like confetti around him. But, beneath their protection, Dean felt a degree of safety, the turbulence reduced, the shrieking winds muted as he glided to alight on a low-hanging branch.

There was no warning, not even the sharp ozone crackle in the air as a lightning bolt struck through the canopy and hit his branch, the electrical field it generated crackling through his nervous system and feathers, shocking and stunning him. He fell with the branch, hitting the ground as other debris fell around him.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean lay in the deadfall amidst the fallen timber. His head hurt like a bitch. He knew something else was wrong, but as an eagle, he didn't know what part of his body corresponded with what. The worst pain was in his wing, where it joined his body, but was that a shoulder? An elbow? Who knew?

Taking stock of the situation, he knew he had far more chance of surviving any sort of serious injury as himself, rather than the eagle, so he put his rapidly fogging mind to transforming back into Dean Winchester. This time the transformation was slow and labored, no doubt a result of his injured and shocked state. After a few minutes of gruesome twisting and contorting and who knows what it must have looked like when he was shedding his plumage in favor of his human skin, and – even more creepily - his beak giving way to his human nose, he was finally Dean Winchester again; naked, concussed and lying under the broken, smoking wreckage of half a tree.

And if that right there wasn't proof positive that Dean's life sucked ass, then nothing was.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Slowly taking stock of various hurts, Dean gingerly attempted to pull himself upright, but even the attempt to shift his position and lift his chest off the ground sent a bolt of searing pain shooting across his shoulder. An intense, burning pain that lit sparkles across his vision and sent his stomach churning. Pulling in deep breaths to tamp down a rising nausea, it was as much as Dean could do to slump back down on the ground. He felt his vision darken and the pain recede.

The oblivion, when it overtook him, was very, very welcome.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean opened his eyes, vaguely aware that he was still alive, his shoulder was no longer giving him bloody Hell, something heavy, scratchy, warm and smelling strongly of dog was covering him, and there was an annoyingly insistent voice demanding something in his immediate vicinity.

"Hey buddy, c'mon, open your eyes."

Not being entirely sure the voice was aimed at him, he decided to ignore it.

The voice receded slightly. "How close can you get the truck, Earl?"

"Hey, you sure he ain't no junkie drug taker or somethin'? Not many folks run around naked in the woods, Ray." The second voice was more distant, also male, and sounded reluctant to get involved. Dean could understand that.

"Damnit, Earl, he's had his head hit – prob'ly by one of them branches," the first voice – Ray? – said, sounding closer again.

Dean heard a grumble and a protracted rustle, followed by receding footsteps.

"Hey buddy, c'mon. Ain't gonna be able to get no ambulance out here to you anytime soon; damn storm knocked the power lines out."

Dean realized that the voice – Ray, he reminded himself tetchily - wasn't going to leave him alone, so with a Herculean effort he managed to pry one eye open.

The sight that met him was the face that the voice belonged to; a hefty, florid man, with receding red hair and a close-cropped beard. An' that'd be Ray, he thought blearily.

"'Kay man," Ray said. "Good to have you with us. Can you sit up?"

Dean's first instinct was to shake his head, but he realized he didn't want to show weakness in front of this man. The guy seemed nice enough, but experience had taught him that nice people weren't always good people.

Using his good arm, he managed to slowly inch himself upwards, tucking his injured arm into his side for support. He ducked his head to hide the pained grimace he could feel on his face as the number of aches and injuries began to assert themselves. When he was halfway up, Ray offered his own shoulder by way of support to help him all the way.

The blanket, covered in dog hair but still warm, slid off him once he was more or less upright and he grabbed it, pulling it around himself awkwardly. The fire that'd filled his shoulder when he'd passed out had been reduced to a throbbing and dulled ache, and he realized that one of the men must have relocated the joint while he'd been out.

"Name's Ray," the man stated amiably. "I reckon you're concussed. What's your name?"

Dean knew the question was asked to serve two purposes; to find out his name, and to ascertain his degree of concussion.

"Dean," he croaked. "Thanks, Ray."

A plastic water bottle was thrust in front of his face. "Drink?" Ray asked. "S'only water I'm afraid."

Dean took the bottle and nodded his thanks before taking a long draught of the water.

"Look, me and Earl, we're on a weekend hunting trip, jus' pheasants mainly. Really just an excuse for a guys' weekend away; half the time we don't kill nothing at all except for a few million brain cells with all the beer we drink. We got a cabin a few miles over thataway."

Ray gestured loosely in a westward direction. "Can take you there an' then depending on how well you do, we can run you to the local health centre in the morning, now that the storm's blown out.

Dean blinked, and nodded blankly. "Th-thanks," he mumbled.

"You got a good whack on the head there, Dean." Ray pointed to Dean's blood-caked head. "And along with a bunch of cuts and bruises, you had a dislocated shoulder too."

"You're damned lucky we found you," the second man said, and Dean turned to look at him. Earl, the name came to him after a second's thought.

"Ray here's been doctoring field injuries most of his life," Earl continued, leaning against the tree trunk next to him. "Put my shoulder back a couple of times. Set broken bones too."

Dean looked down at the arm that he was tightly cradling and wiggled his fingers. The soreness would go in a couple of days. He made a loose fist, nodding to himself.

"Guess I am lucky then," he said, looking back at Ray.

"Gotta ask," Ray eventually blurted. "Why the hell in tarnation are you naked?"

Dean knew this one was coming. He knew it was a perfectly reasonable question under the circumstances and he still didn't have anything like plausible explanation.

"Uh, not sure actually," he began. "Just passing through some local one-horse burg yesterday, and I remember hustling some pool. I remember being three sheets to the wind when I left the place, and I guess the guys didn't like me relieving them of their hard-earned because there was a fight, and then that's all she wrote. Next thing I wake up here – no clothes, no money."

"Shee-it, you must have really pissed those guys off!"

"Yeah, I reckon I did," Dean gave a weak smile, and shrugged his good shoulder.

"Look, Earl brought the truck over; we'll have a spare set of clothes in the back.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Ray and Earl were as good as their word.

Although Dean got the impression that Earl never fully trusted him – and to be fair to the guy, Dean probably wouldn't trust some random naked dude he found sprawled across the ground in the middle of a forest – they gave him a spare set of clothes, a hot shower, a hot meal, and a bed for the night.

Ray made good his knowledge by checking Dean's concussion twice – once before Dean turned in, and again in the morning when he emerged from the shower, and declared himself satisfied that the patient wasn't going to keel over at any given moment.

The restorative effects of Dean's comfortable night meant that by morning, he felt well enough to make coffee as the guys packed up, and hitch a ride along the I-80E with them to Mill City.

His injured shoulder was going to be a bitch for a while to come, and he didn't have a penny to his name, but he had his wits, and he was moving closer to Sam with every day that passed.

And that was good enough for Dean.


	18. Betrayed

Chapter 18

 _His injured shoulder was going to be a bitch for a while to come, and he didn't have a penny to his name, but he had his wits, and he was moving closer to Sam with every day that passed._

 _And that was good enough for Dean._

John's injured knee throbbed in painful counterpoint to his jumbled up thoughts. The anger that had fuelled him through his confrontation with Dean had faded with Dean's departure, and been replaced with a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. It was one thing to have been speculating about his son being a shape-shifter, and quite another to witness Dean changing from his familiar, human form into a massive eagle.

He stood for several minutes in the parking lot, unable to move, staring blankly at the space Dean had occupied moments before, too many different voices warring in his head until he didn't know which was his own any more.

That wasn't Dean; it wasn't his son. How could his flesh and blood transform so easily from man to beast? It'd been so smooth and effortless, like it was something he'd been born with, and that made John sick to his stomach.

And yet, he'd seen the hurt in Dean's eyes as they'd fought – he'd witnessed the vulnerability John knew underlay Dean's bravado.

Looking down at the keys still clenched in his fist, John slowly made his way to the four-by-four Dean had left him. He started the engine and the radio came on. Local news reported a hold-up at the Gulp N Go, some drugged up wasters taken out by a scary-assed ninja-type stranger. John's attention sharpened and he focused on the reporter's interview with the over-excited desk clerk.

"Yeah, dude, that stranger, he totally mind-whammied the one by the door. For real! I saw the stoner's face go kinda blank, then he shot his own buddy, bam! Then the scary dude did some sort of Vulcan death grip thing and the shooter guy just dropped, man. It was really freaky."

John shivered. His heart ached like a son of a bitch but John thought his path was now clear. This new evidence, added to the murders he knew Dean had already left in his wake since his transformation, all made it clear Dean had to be stopped, any way John could. The thought of setting more Hunters onto Dean's trail was abhorrent after the less than successful dealings with Eldon Light, but John needed help. He couldn't turn to Bobby or Sam, so what options did he have?

He switched off the engine and sat deep in thought for a while before it came to him. He had no idea how long Dean would stay in his eagle form, or how far he might fly, but John did know one thing for certain. Dean's destination.

Palo Alto, and Sam.

John needed time. He needed to slow Dean down, make it as difficult as possible for Dean to reach Sam, so that John could get there first and intercept Dean. This Gulp N Go incident might give him the leverage to get some official help delaying Dean. John hesitated no longer and reached for the burner cell he kept handy for times when anonymity was essential, and dialed 911.

"Yeah, US Marshal Whitney here. I need back up. I'm in Colorado, in pursuit of a dangerous felon, name of Dean Winchester." Part of John flinched saying Dean's name, but he carried on regardless. This had to be done. "He gave me the slip after a shooting incident and is heading west."

"What do you need, Marshal?"

John snapped the phone shut when he'd finished setting a trap for his eldest boy, and sat for a long time, biting his lip and brooding.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Ray and Earl were good guys, but Dean wasn't in the mood to be sociable. His shoulder and head throbbed in tandem and neither injury was too happy with being jostled as Ray's pickup seemed to find every pothole in the country roads before they finally hit the US-50 and some smooth asphalt.

Ashamed of being such poor company after everything they'd done for him, Dean insisted the two amateur hunters drop him at the first decent sized town they hit, which happened to be a place called Elko, pop eighteen thousand. Big enough to lose himself in, he thought, but small enough to get out of fast if he had to. Still high desert country, the mountains rearing around the town, their peaks snow-capped, but he was a few steps closer to California and Sam, which was a good thing.

He felt even more of a jerk after both guys pressed a couple of fifties into his hand, and wouldn't hear of any attempts to repay them. Dean was doubly grateful, for the cash and for the clothes they gave him, and waved them off with a grateful smile that was completely genuine. He realized he'd begun to doubt humanity's worth, but the one thing this whole affair had shown him was that there was a great deal of kindness to be found in folk, in spite of everything.

Keeping to his own shape because the effort of thinking up a change was too much, Dean wanted nothing more than a long soak in a hot tub and a massive ice pack for his shoulder, but knowing his father would be on his trail, rest was a luxury he couldn't afford. He looked around Elko's main street, trying to work through his options. The town straddled the I-80, which stretched east-west across the continent ending up in West Sacramento. Too close to Folsom, he thought with a shiver. He was gonna have to get hold of Sam again. Work out a place to meet that no one knew about. The 80 had followed the oldest pioneer trail across the mountains. It would take him to Reno and from there down to the coast.

Decision made, Dean walked casually to the parking lot of the Hooters opposite the motel Ray had dropped him at. Fortune was on his side and he found an old Chevy pickup left unlocked. He had it hotwired in seconds and was on the road in less than a minute, heading west. Even better, he noted, glancing at the dash, the Chevy had a full tank of gas, and in the rearview mirror he could see what looked like supplies for a BBQ party in the back. He smiled, rolled down the window and put his foot on the gas pedal.

Soon Elko's low-rise buildings were in the rearview mirror, and he'd settled into a steady cruise, the Humboldt flashing in the morning sunlight as it wound from one side to the other of the road, traffic filling the eastbound lanes but nothing head west with him.

Ten miles out of town, Dean reached over to the passenger seat well and grabbed himself a beer from the cooler that the Chevy's owner has been kind enough to leave within reach. Hot dust and sage scents blew in through the open window as he steered one-handed. He rested his injured left shoulder on the ledge, careless of the inevitable sunburn. This was the most relaxed he'd felt since that damned shape-shifter woman had bitten him, so he should have known it was too good to last.

The sense of peace vanished abruptly with the recall of that memory – and over it, his father's expression as they'd faced each other. Monster, it'd said even more clearly than the words that'd followed.

Well, hell, he thought. I wasn't ever good enough. Maybe his father had been expecting to have to kill him from the moment he'd first allowed to him to hunt.

A scowl draw dark brows together as other memories forced themselves in. It'd hadn't always been bad. Or maybe it had. He couldn't think anymore of what the past had held. Too many things had changed and too much had happened to go back, but he wasn't sure he knew the way forward.

Sam.

That was where he had to start. He'd figure it out – what to do, how to do it – easier if his little brother was there. Hell, they'd figure it out together. Punching the radio on, he twisted the dial, looking for something that would drown out the memories and the thoughts and let him be.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

He'd been driving for nearly three hours when he spotted blue and red lights flashing a fair way behind him on the road. Coming up fast, a sign advised Winnemucca was only another five miles, the exit for Golconda in a half-mile.

He banged his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. He was tired. Sore. He needed just a fucking handful of good luck, but he never got it.

"Goddammit," he muttered, wavering between stepping on the gas or just waiting the cop car out, seeing if brazen charm would get him through. He opted for the latter, sticking to his cruising speed and watching in the rearview as the cop car emerged from the heat haze. Surely, it was too soon for the cops to be chasing down a stolen vehicle, so maybe they were after someone or something else. The road straightened out and Dean saw what lay ahead.

"Oh fuck."

A dozen cop cars straddled the westbound lanes, positioned around the exit ramps, multicolored lights twirling against the dark line of hills behind them, and even from a distance Dean could see at least eight cops positioned behind their makeshift barrier, presumably with weapons at the ready.

He glanced into the rearview and, yup, there wasn't just one cop car on his tail but two.

He was in deep shit.

Eyes wide, Dean didn't think but let his body react. Along the big road there were no Armco barriers, just the soft gravel shoulder and sand in every direction. He swung hard to the left, the truck grinding as it bounced from the concrete onto the soft sand separating west from eastbound lanes, and hit the gas, spraying the shoulder's fine gravel in a rooster tail to his rear. A fast glance to his right showed the cops at the road block scrambling for their cruisers, and snapping his head around, he saw the two that'd been behind him turning for the desert, accelerating in an attempt to cut him off.

Foot flat to the floor, Dean gripped the wheel, eyes narrowed as he scanned the terrain ahead. The old Chevy squealed like a stuck pig, her suspension creaking as he gunned the engine and headed towards the dusty brown hills.

He needed only two things. To get out of the flat, empty landscape with its lack of places to hide; and to put enough distance between his stolen rust-bucket and the cops to transform, and he'd gone and clear.

A plain wire fence loomed up ahead of him and the Chev's grille took it in the teeth, dragging a hundred feet of fence with him before it disappeared under the wheels. He felt the sag of the punctured tires a moment later, automatically calculating how much distance he could cover before he lost traction when the rims were grinding on the sand. In his periphery, he saw one of the chasing cruisers hit the tangled-up remains of the fence and slew around to a halt, sending a monumental wave of dust and gravel ahead of it. The next moment, the driver obviously having lost his bearings, the second car hit a hole, ending its chase nose down in the dirt, siren hiccupping mournfully.

His rearview was filled with the massive dust cloud thrown up by the Chevy's tires, and no sign of the pursuing patrol cars. Dean's gaze snapped back to the front as the truck bounced over a boulder, metal shrieking and the smell of burning oil suddenly inundating the cab. Hit the oil pan, he thought distractedly. He glanced backwards again. The dust cloud was tinted with black smoke now.

Dean took his chance. He reached over and grabbed the cooler, jamming it between the firewall and bench seat, on top of the accelerator pedal. He opened the driver's door and flung himself out. The sore muscles of his shoulder complained as he hit the ground, but he gritted his teeth and endured as he rolled away from the truck. He lost the little air he still had in his lungs when the ground dropped away from him and he fell into a small, rocky streambed, one of the many that criss-crossed the uneven plain, scoured out by storms, left empty when it wasn't raining.

The driverless Chevy rattled onwards, momentum carrying it past the spot where Dean had jumped, and Dean hoped it would give him enough distance and enough of a dust screen for him to collect himself at the bottom of the shallow ditch he'd fallen into. Keeping his head low, he sucked in the dry air, grimacing at the taste of oily dust that filled his mouth as he inventoried the aches and pains. The shoulder muscles were bitching at him, but it wouldn't slow him down.

Above and somewhere to the right, he could hear the roar of the cop car engines and a fusillade of gunfire. He didn't have much time.

Closing his eyes, he went for the first creature he thought of, a mountain lion. Transforming was harder this time. He was tired and hurt all over, but he persevered, using the adrenaline pumping through his veins to fuel the change. Heavy muscles formed over a lengthening torso and he could feel the weight of his tail providing his new form with balance and grace. He flexed his paws, sheathing and unsheathing lethal claws and bared his teeth in a fierce, feline semblance of a grin.

Yeah. This would do. The ache in his shoulder had dissipated as the muscles thickened and this cat-body moved with speed and stealth that his human form could never have managed. Dean belly-crawled toward the rising ground to his left, aware that soft, mottled golds of the coat he was now sporting blended almost invisibly with the surrounding sand and gravel soil. As he reached the end of the washout, he looked around. The truck had stopped, and the cops were surrounding it, yelling over bullhorns and firing into the air. It was tempting to wait around, see their reactions when they finally grew big enough cojones to take a closer look and found the cab empty. He shook his head and padded up the slope, heading west.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

John fully intended to leave immediately after his call to the police, but something kept him from getting in the car and going. Instead, after a long indecisive moment, he took a leaf from Sam's book and headed for the nearest Internet café.

An hour, a couple of hundred pages of research and two strong coffees later, John could feel his face set into a look of such grim certainty he was surprised the clientele of the café couldn't feel it like thunder in the air. He hadn't wanted to believe he'd had hope – until it'd gone.

There was no other solution for his son. The change was irreversible. There was no cure, no spell or ritual to take the changes away, and death was the only answer. John ran his hand over his face and through his hair, unconsciously echoing both his sons in one gesture. How had it come to this?

"I'm so sorry, Mary," John whispered as he picked up the car keys and walked out through the doorway.

TBC


End file.
